


The Cover Up

by Mottsnave



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Detective Noir, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26510071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottsnave/pseuds/Mottsnave
Summary: Five years after the war, prisoners are being paroled under the Reform and Release Program. When one of them goes missing, a group of Slytherins calls on Neville to pay back an old debt. He never thought he'd be part of something like this.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 28





	1. The Bridge

They landed in darkness. Neville always felt dizzy after apparating, and the darkness made it worse. He spread his arms to catch his balance. Steadied, he cast Lumos. Next to him, Theodore Nott winced in the light.

They were in a small clearing with a tangled wood off to one side. On the other side, a massive masonry structure rose up. Just under it was a collection of wood fruit crates, a lopsided sofa in Hufflepuff colors and a Ravenclaw armchair that had seen better days. Neville lifted his wand. Far above, the stone pilings joined in arches, a bridge. Theo was breaking up a wooden crate at the edge of the clearing. In front of the clearing was… nothing. Neville took a tentative step closer. It was a steep rocky slope, he couldn't see the bottom in the darkness, but he could hear water somewhere below. A bridge above a river?

"Put that out," said Nott over his shoulder. Neville obediently dropped the Lumos. Nott was calling the shots, after all.

Like so many things, it all went back to the last year of the war. Neville had seen Hogwarts in a whole new light, that year. DA activities meant that he had to know every closet, corridor, and disused room like the back of his hand. He'd also seen another side of the staff and students. They'd had to be on watch, all the time, and so often he'd seen Slytherins acting suspicious. Not that that was surprising, suspicious was what Slytherins were. But somehow it managed to come out in the DA's favor sometimes. Such as when Neville and Ginny were vandalizing the second-floor east corridor. They were almost caught, _would_ have been caught, except that they could hear Theodore Nott speaking very loudly to Amycus Carrow as they came up the stairs. Loud enough they could hear his voice echoing clearly up the stairwell, "I'm sure they're up to something, sir, it's just this way…" There was plenty of time for Neville and Ginny to be well away when the Carrows arrived on the scene.

At the time, Neville didn't give it much thought, even though it didn't entirely make sense. Why would Nott, who was usually so quiet, decide at that moment to be loud? Neville chalked it up to the usual sort of Slytherin incompetence. It wasn't until shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts that it came out. Millicent Bulstrode, of all people, was suddenly giving information on secret muggleborn holding facilities to the Ministry. She was an eye, the head of them, or so she claimed, the group of students spying for Snape. Neville supposed it made sense; if Snape was really on their side, it would have been almost impossible for him to keep track of everything in the school without help. Of course there wasn't proof, aside for the fact that Bulstrode had information to give, with Snape presumed dead at the time, and since then very little else had come out about them. Certainly, no names besides Bulstrode's.

Not that Neville hadn't tried to find out; there was a debt there, after all. It wasn't until three years later that Neville had his next clue. It was just after Snape's survival had been made public, and Neville had found Nott helping Snape. It made some of Neville's memories finally fall into place, of Nott being glimpsed just around corners and down halls from DA actions. He tried to quietly thank Nott. Nott hadn't been pleased about it at all.

Neville didn't understand at first. He still felt a bit embarrassed by how long it took for him to catch on. With Nott's father in Azkaban for life, it probably should have been self-explanatory. It took Nott very pointedly hissing at him, "I might hate that sodding bastard, but I'd still rather he _not_ get stabbed as a traitor in prison on _my_ account. _Do you understand me?"_

Neville did, finally. So, there were no thanks and an understanding that Nott could always _not_ call on Neville if he ever didn't need anything.

So Neville knew what it meant when Nott Floo-called him in his quarters at Hogwarts just before the Christmas Holidays. He must have got the location from Bulstrode. The message was curt. "Don't need anything. I'm not calling on you."

"Ok. Should I…"

"Alley behind the Hog's Head. Fifteen minutes."

The Hogwarts' grounds were a bit dismal in the twilight. Quiet with the term ended. The dusting of snow that had been so beautiful three days ago was thoroughly trampled into mud by the last of the students heading down to Hogsmead station.

Nott had been waiting for him back by the Hog's Head's rubbish bins, out of the glow of the holiday lights strung along the street. He was slouching against the fence. That was his usual pose at Hogwarts, too, Neville remembered, blending in at the edges of things, mumbling something noncommittal if he was ever called on in class. Not that he was called on very often; he seemed to even blend in with the desks somehow. He had his usual bored look as Neville approached, but he could see Nott's fingers nervously twisting the cuff of his robes. He glanced down the deserted alley before looking at Neville. He didn't explain a thing. "Ready? Let's go." He took Neville's arm, and then the apparition into darkness.

They weren't in darkness any longer. The fire that Nott had started in the crate slats was sending out a warm glow. Nott sat on another crate and poked at the boards. Nott wasn't looking at him. Neville supposed they were waiting for something. He took the armchair.

There was a crack – it sounded like an apparition, somewhere in the woods. The faint light of a Lumos was bobbing through the trees. Another crack came from the darkness along the bridge supports, and a minute later Blaise Zabini stepped into view.

"What the hell, Nott? Why'd you have to bring along a _pussy?_ "

"He owes me," said Nott calmly.

Daphne Greengrass emerged from the woods a moment later and took a seat on the upper end of the sofa, propping her feet up on a crate. She stared openly at Neville.

Zabini and Nott were exchanging something at the edge of the fire. Zabini got a bag of something and Nott pocketed a roll of bills without counting it.

"Get out of it, Longarse," said Zabini. "Go on."

Neville sighed. He was the intruder, after all. He took a crate near the fire. Zabini settled in the armchair and started rolling a smoke from the contents of the bag. No one spoke. Nott tossed a rock into the darkness. It plinked a few times distantly down the slope.

There was another crack from the slope above. "Fucking finally," said Zabini. Bulstrode was tromping down, still in Hogwarts' grey administrative robes.

Daphne tucked her blond hair behind an ear and pulled a flask from a fold in her cloak. She took a swig just as Bulstrode sat heavily on the other end of the sofa, bouncing Daphne's end up. She sputtered on the mouth of the flask and laughed, a surprisingly clear bright sound.

" _Delicate_ flower," said Zabini.

"Give it here, Greenarse, need it more than you do," said Bulstrode.

Daphne passed the flask. "When are you quitting again?"

"Just sticking till I get a pension," said Bulstrode.

"The hell you are," said Zabini. "You'll stay there forever. You _love_ it. Wiping firsties' noses. Satisfies your mother-instinct, since no one'll ever breed with you."

Bulstrode took a prodigious pull on the flask.

"Zero," said Daphne sweetly to Nott across the fire, "when you roomed with him, how often did Zabini cry for his binky?"

"Every bloody night, until we found out you could stick a cock in his mouth and he'd sleep like a baby."

Neville looked at Nott. He'd always seemed so quiet.

"God, Nott, you should have said something if you didn't enjoy it," said Zabini, passing the smoke to Nott. He took a drag and passed it back. The flask and smoke passed between Zabini and Bulstrode. Nott took his turn at the flask and made to give it back to Zabini.

"What, don't I get a turn?" said Neville. He could tell they'd never let him in unless he opened the door himself. Nott glanced over at Daphne. She shrugged. He handed Neville the flask. It smelled a bit of the stuff Filch had used to scrub down the corridors when he was a kid.

He took a swig. It was bloody awful. He almost choked on it, but he knew he could _not_ show it. He got it down with only a wince and passed it back to Nott. Daphne laughed again. She had seen the wince.

"Right, Nott," said Bulstrode. "You wanted a bloody meeting. Did Goylegeous eat through the food budget already?"

 _Who on earth was 'Gorgeous?'_ Neville thought.

"No, he's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?" said Zabini. "Run off? Does this mean he's not coming in to work?"

"Don't think so."

"God, he didn't off himself, did he?" said Daphne.

"No, I –"

There was a faint metallic ping above, then two more. Everyone fell silent. There was a sort of ringing, right at the edge of hearing.

Nott cast something that Neville didn't quite catch, and the fire plunged into darkness, but Neville could still hear it crackling and feel the warmth. A rushing of air started above them. The only light was Zabini's smoke, out of range of the spell, the orange tip glowing and fading as he drew on it.

The rushing above was growing and turning into a deep roar. Neville could feel it up through his feet, in his chest. The train thundered over them, the pounding noise driving all thoughts from his head. The lights of it revealed the cliffs on the other side of the gorge and the wide curve of the tracks before it disappeared into the dense forest on the other side, wailing away. The last Hogwarts' Express out for the winter hols.

Nott cast something again, Neville could barely hear it. The fire came back into view. The trees above them settled back into stillness.

"The wards on my flat were broken and reset. Goylgeous is keyed to them. He wouldn't have needed to break them. Well, he couldn't anyway, not on his own. No wand."

 _Goylegeous, they were talking about Gregory Goyle, Merlin, that's where he ended up._ Neville hadn't seen him, hell, hadn't even thought much about him for years. In fact, the last time he had seen him was, what, five years ago? Neville had testified against him at his trial. And he had been sentenced to what… could it be five years? So he was out. And staying with Nott? Or, more to the point, _not_ staying with Nott anymore.

"Signs of a struggle?" said Bulstrode in the silence.

"No, none at all. In fact, the flat's been wiped of every trace of him. I had to throw some decoy clothes in his room in case the Ministry decides to do a check."

"Zabini?" Bulstrode asked.

"Yeah, I don't know. I haven't seen him since his shift on Tuesday. I don't know where he is on the roster, but I can check."

"Do that," said Bulstrode. "Ask your staff."

"How long do we have?" asked Daphne.

"Two days," said Nott.

"Damn."

"That's where _he_ comes in," said Nott.

Everyone was looking at Neville now. He didn't like it.

"Uh, so Gregory Goyle's run off… and you want me to find him?"

"No, and no," said Nott.

"He won't have gone off on his own," said Daphne. "He may be an idiot, but even _he_ understands that he is well and truly fucked. He wouldn't leave his one safe place to stay. Unless it's to off himself."

Nott shook his head. "We need more time. He's due to check in with his parole officer on Monday." He was speaking directly to Neville. "I need you to get that waived. And no one can know why."

"I – what?"

Zabini gave a great sigh. " _This_ is why you don't bring pussies, Nott."

"I thought you said he owes you," said Daphne.

"He does." Bulstrode's voice was low. "He owes us and he knows it."

He did. He owed them and he knew it. True, the DA didn't know everything the eyes had done, how many times they might have been caught by the Carrows without their distractions and misdirections, but anyone who helped them had been part of the resistance, after all.

"Look, I'm not saying that I wouldn't pay you back in any way I can. I do owe you and I want to…. But does it actually make sense to get his parole check waived? I mean, why don't you just report him missing to the Ministry?"

Several withering looks were directed at him. "No," said Nott wearily. "He'd have no chance at all. If he was in on it, he'd just get sent back to Azkaban. If it's against his will... look, the Ministry would be happy with any excuse to put him back in. Even if they could claim it was for his own protection. He doesn't have any chances left."

"Well, if he is safer inside…"

Nott scoffed. "Do people in Azkaban ever get better? Or do they get worse?"

Neville didn't think he really needed to answer that one.

"No," Nott went on, "we need time to find him. We need that parole check waived."

"But I don't have any influence or connections with parole officers. I wouldn't even know how to begin with that. I mean, why would they waive anything on the word of an assistant Herbology professor?"

"You're the one paying the favor, Longarse. That's for you to figure out," said Zabini.

"I'm not trying to avoid paying you back."

Zabini laughed. "Not me. _I'm_ not one of the eyes. You wouldn't catch _me_ sticking my neck out like that."

Neville looked at them all in confusion. "I thought…"

"I'm here because Goyle's been working in my club. But I haven't seen him any more than the rest of you."

Neville turned to Nott. "And you're the one who's been putting him up."

"Yeah."

"Why? I mean, why didn't you just let him fend for himself?"

"How would that go?" said Bulstrode. "On his own as a muggle? Probably end up hurting someone. We don't need the bad press."

Neville turned back to Nott. "I _do_ owe you. I'll help in any way I can. It's just that I don't see _how_ I can help."

It was Daphne who answered. She was leaning her head on Bulstrode's shoulder and looking at him over the fire with a smile. "Are you _sure_ you don't have any connections, love? No friends? No one at all who would do something for you? No one in the Auror department?"

 _Oh, hell_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is in the same universe as my other works, but I'll be including context and backstory as it goes, so you shouldn't have to read the previous works to understand this one. You could see this as a rough sequel to Inconclusive Evidence, since it follows some of the same characters, but again, you won't need to read that one if you don't want to. It takes place about 2 ½ years after the end of The Good Friend.
> 
> This story is completely written. It will be novella length, about 17 or 18 chapters, depending on how I split things up. I still have editing/typing/polishing to do, so my posting schedule will probably be every other week.


	2. The Game

The disaster began in November. Theo knew all along that it would be a disaster. _Goyle_ was a disaster. Had always been a disaster. And people generally didn't come out of Azkaban improved in the disaster department, Dementors or no. But Bulstrode always had her way, and she did have a point. She couldn't put him up herself, since she was at the school most of the year. Daphne would have ended up hexing him. Pritchard's government post as a legislative clerk put him out of the picture. Sarah Fawcett, the eye from Ravenclaw, had never come out as working for Snape along with the rest of the eyes, and could have hardly explained Goyle's presence to anyone.

The same went for Conrad Stebbins, the eye from Hufflepuff. Theo had always wondered how Snape managed to recruit him. He had turned out to be completely loyal, doggedly hardworking, an utterly typical and boring Hufflepuff, and indispensably useful as a spy that last year of the war. And of course there was no way he could put up Goyle without destroying his friendships and social life.

Theo even asked Draco out of desperation, but was stiffly informed that "such associations are a violation of my parole." It was probably even the truth. As for the rest of Slytherin House, Bulstrode was no doubt right that an eye would have a much better chance of being approved by the Ministry for housing a parolee than any other Slytherin. So it was him, or else Goyle would probably end up on the street, and there was a debt to pay. And Bulstrode was always right.

It was a dubious benefit to be halfway trusted by the Ministry for being one of Snape's 'eyes' during the war, if it meant that he was the one who got stuck with Goyle. At least Theo had bargained for and secured a generous food budget from the rest of the eyes, and a job for Goyle at Zabini's club. He had lured Zabini over to his flat with vintage vinyl and some high quality weed he'd bought off Dodger, and when they were very relaxed, Theo brought up his proposal.

"Shit, Zero, he's a useless tosser."

"No, he's the cheapest labor you'll ever find. You think he has any other prospects? He'll do anything you say, and he'll never quit."

Zabini took a long drag and laughed. "All right, we'll give it a go."

So Theo managed to get himself an extremely unpleasant flatmate. He had waited in the unwelcoming Azkaban Floo landing, listening to the gale winds outside, when Goyle finally came out in Ministry-issued grey robes, holding a small bag of his belongings, and carrying a lean musculature that didn't look right on him at all. _Walking disaster_ , thought Theo.

Predictably, Goyle hated the flat. It was a muggle flat, in a muggle part of East London, leased with the muggle trust fund Theo's granddad had left him. As long as he kept all magic strictly behind wards and all his money strictly in muggle banks, the Ministry had absolutely no reason to keep tabs on him, which is how he liked it.

Goyle didn't like it at all. "Bloody muggle trash," he grunted. Theo didn't bother to answer. Goyle was probably the second-worst Slytherin he'd ever known at looking after his self-interest, Crabbe being the first. How the hell did Goyle think he could have managed a flat in a magic neighborhood with his wand snapped and his reputation? It would have been useless to explain it, though, Goyle always hated what he was going to hate, he didn't need a good reason.

At first, Theo thought he might have escaped Goyle's general hate. He had wisely decided against any sort of rules for the flat. Anyway Goyle would have been useless at tidying up and it wouldn't have been quite fair. After all, any chore that Theo could accomplish with a flick of his wand would have taken Goyle ages to do ineptly. Theo handled all the housework and food. Goyle could come and go as he pleased. Not that it pleased him; he had no place to go, except for work at Helix and check-ins with his parole officer.

Goyle would mutter darkly when Theo played his grandad's records on the turntable he'd rigged to be magic-compatible. Theo found it was an effective technique whenever he wanted the sitting room to himself without Goyle's sullen presence.

"What _is_ that?"

"Bix Beiderbeck."

"Big spiderback?"

Theo shrugged. Goyle had shaken his head to himself and closed himself in his room.

It wasn't ideal, but it was temporary, just until Goyle could save up enough from his job at the club to get his own place. It wasn't as if Theo enjoyed his company, but it seemed that they had reached a sort of steady coexistence.

Goyle had always been a bit of a brute, but for years Theo thought it was the usual sort of big talk some in the House went in for. Until those last two years. Goyle and Crabbe went in so deep, so fast. It was like they were playing a game and they didn't even really see other people as human anymore. Draco was along for the ride but anyone who knew him could tell he was barely hanging on. Goyle and Crabbe were different. Theo didn't think they had killed anyone, but they were working their way up to it.

Theo knew killers. His granddad was one.

It was some sort of Ministry mix-up, his granddad always told him. Somehow he'd been drafted into the Muggle military during the war, though his name should never have been on those roles. He couldn't tell Theo why he'd gone along and joined rather than have the Ministry get him out. He managed to get himself in the RAF, he'd always enjoyed flying. And there he got his life-long Muggle friends, his taste for Muggle music, in the Vera Lynn and Glen Miller records that circulated in the barracks, and his ability to kill. He told Theo about it when he was nine.

Granddad was showing Theo how to take apart his turntable and replace the belt. In the silence as Granddad struggled with the clip that would let them lift off the platter, Theo blurted what had been weighing on him all evening.

"Why doesn't dad like you?"

It was Theo's weekend to be at his dad's, no Nott would ever completely lose a custody battle, but there had been some kind of meeting, and Theo had to stay with his granddad instead. Not that he minded. There was the usual chilly distance when his dad dropped him off. Theo knew other kids with angry fathers, yellers, mostly. When someone was yelling, then at least you knew what they were angry about. He couldn't tell with his dad. He just knew there was a horribly cold distance between them.

His granddad sighed and stretched the rubber belt between his hands. "See? You got to warm it up first."

"Granddad…"

"I told you about when I flew in the war."

Theo nodded.

"You know why we were flying, boy. Those were bombing runs."

"Granddad…"

"I _am_ telling you, but you have to listen carefully, now. We _had_ to win that war. And the bombs, that was how to win it. Not spells." His granddad transferred the belt to Theo's hands.

"I was part of something big, and I knew my little part in it. And it had to be done. But your heart knows, Theo. When you drop a bomb… stretch it."

Theo obligingly worked the belt between his hands.

"It could be that where it lands is full of the _worst_ sort, Nazis through and through. But chances are, among them are people who didn't agree, and weren't strong enough to fight back, just trying to get along. And some of them could have been resistance, the people who fight back in ways no one ever sees or knows about, because it has to be secret. And now no one will ever know what they did. And there could be the very ones we were trying to save, too, refugees hiding in cellars. And kids, kids too. A bomb doesn't care. It wipes them all out."

His granddad pointed to the wheel. Theo stretched the belt across.

"Your heart knows all that. But your head knows it's the only way. So, your head has to play a little game, to get you ready to do what you have to do. You start thinking of those people down there as _not-people_. As ants."

He hooked Theo's finger in the belt and showed him how to pull it across to the spindle.

"It worked for a while, and I did my job. But playing that kind of game isn't good for you. It's hard to come back from that. When the war was over and I came home, well, I had been gone a long time, and your dad was young. He didn't remember me. And I… because of that game I'd been playing, I couldn't touch him or hold him, not for a long time. I was pretty hard on him. Your grandma too. You know what changed it all?"

Theo studiously lined up his collection of screws as his granddad fit the turntable cover back in place.

"When I saw your mum holding you in the hospital. The look on her face, and yours. I don't think I realized until then how much I hurt your dad. I tried to apologize to him, and… that hurt him too. I changed, but not for _him_. For you. He's always felt jealous of that. That's my fault too. I do love him, but we'll never be really close. We'll never see eye to eye on some things. Look, I know your dad can be difficult, but try to remember that I wasn't much of a father to him. Now. Which screw goes on this joint?"

Theo knew, that was his job. When the turntable was reassembled, his granddad put on Nat King Cole and they played poker until bedtime.

Before his granddad closed the bedroom door that night, he leaned in and said, "Don't play that game, Theo. Two is enough." Theo wasn't sure what he meant by that until years later, after his granddad was gone, when he learned what his dad's meetings were about.

And Greg. He had been playing that game for a few years. It _was_ possible to come back from it, but his granddad had worked at it because he _wanted_ to get better. Theo wasn't sure that Greg did. His heavy sullen presence didn't bode well for the possibility of change. So when Daphne sent him an owl one evening with an invitation to see a band at Zabini's club, Helix, Theo jumped at the chance. They met outside the entrance, in the early darkness of a December night.

"Is this a date?" Theo asked. It was always good to clarify with Daphne.

"Well, not ours. Astoria's on a second date and I said I'd be backup. If it goes sideways she'll give me a sign and I'll come up with a 'family emergency' to get her out, so it could end early. You still in?"

"Sure," said Theo. He could use a break from the flat.

They were there early enough that there wasn't a line at the door and Daphne could secure one of the high tables along the back wall where they could survey the room. Theo could see Dodger at one of the corner tables leaning close to talk to someone dressed in robes. That might be the prospect he had been talking about. It was early stages yet if they were meeting in public. Phelps would be somewhere nearby. There, he was at the bar alone, nursing a drink and keeping an eye on Dodger's table. Theo looked away quickly. It wouldn't do to stare, and Dodger was better at clearing prospects anyway.

Daphne brought their drinks over and slid into the seat across from Theo. "She's just coming in – look. Aren't they adorable?"

Daphne's sister and her date were winding their way to a table just off the dance floor.

"Hmm," said Theo.

Daphne sighed. "You're not still mooning over Turpin, are you?"

"Mooning?"

"You weren't even that serious about her, Zero."

"And how would you know that?"

"Oh, come on. You didn't tell her you were an eye, and you didn't tell her what you do for a living."

"I'm not going to jump right into that, you have to trust someone first."

"And anyway, she wasn't serious about you either."

"Oh, really?"

"She just wanted a bad boy, and you're not, Nott."

"Good job not letting the pity show."

"Look at them, they're holding hands!" Daphne took a drink and leaned around to watch her sister. "You ought to get her out of your system."

"Is that what you think?"

"Or you could keep mooning around, whichever is more fun." She looked at him. "It's just an offer, Nott. We've had fun before."

"Don't play games with me, Daphne, I am _not_ in the mood."

"You _used_ to like games."

The band was setting up now, checking the levels of the Sonorus charms, the tables around the dance floor filling.

"Anyway, aren't you going out with Zach Smith?" Theo asked.

"Sure, but it's not like we're exclusive."

"Does _he_ know that?"

"He would if he thought about it."

Theo laughed and took a drink of his pint.

"Anyway, he _needed_ someone after the drippy Fawcett broke up with him."

"Oh, so it's charity work."

"He's not bad. At least the sex is all right when he's feeling jealous."

"Right, see? I don't want to be your pawn, Greenarse."

"At least pawns get to play the game. You _are_ mooning, aren't you?"

"Not about Lisa bloody Turpin. Living with Goylegeous is a bit of a mood-killer."

"Oh merlin, yes. We'd definitely go to my place."

"Look, not now, Daphne."

She sighed. "Fine."

The band was starting. One of Zabini's avant-garde interests; medieval murder ballads sung in an ethereal style over a sort of dreamy trance backing. More people were coming in now. There was a very familiar figure: Lisa Turpin, arm-in-arm with Cormac McLaggen. Theo felt his stomach clench.

"Changed my mind, Daphne," he said quickly.

"What?"

He was already leaning in. She caught on at once and met him in the kiss. She was laughing when they parted.

"What was that for, Zero?"

He didn't need to answer; she followed his gaze and saw the couple.

"Oh, _fine_ , you don't want to be my pawn, but it's all good when I'm yours?" Daphne said in mock indignation.

"Well, yeah," said Theo.

"Look, if you're going to play the game now, you should at least play it _properly_."

"What?"

"Come on, let's be obvious," she said, pulling him out to the dance floor. She draped herself on him and slid his hand around her waist. "Ooh, baby," she drawled in his ear. She was trying not to laugh.

"Shut _up,_ Greenarse," Theo hissed.

"Why don't you make me?"

He held her in a long kiss, angling them so they could be seen in profile from the entrance. Daphne gazed up into his eyes.

"Have you ever tried, you know, being convincing?" she asked.

"Oh, ha."

"Shit, that's how you really kiss? I'm _so_ sorry."

"As if _you_ don't know how I kiss."

"Why don't you give it another go? Practice makes perfect."

He did.

"Well, that was tragic. Hey, if you're ever interested in any pointers…"

"You are so full of shit, Greenarse."

"Oh really? I'm not the one who keeps getting dumped."

"Only a matter of time before Zach catches on."

"Oh, yes, my _boyfriend_ ," she said, resigned.

"I think you mispronounced 'pity-fuck.'"

"Ooh, Nott, I like it when you talk dirty."

Daphne rated the next kiss as 'slightly less tragic.'

Astoria and her date were slow-dancing. Nott lost track of Lisa and Cormac, they must have left at some point. The bands changed. The main act would have been too poppy for Theo's taste, except that it was slightly redeemed by a psychedelic edge. Daphne went back to their table for another drink.

Theo skirted the dance floor to the short corridor that led back to the lav. There was a jam up in the corridor. Must be a private party in one of the back rooms, Theo thought. And there was Goyle, trying to work his way through the crowd with a dolly of empty kegs. He tried to catch Theo's eye. Theo looked away and pretended not to notice. That's what set it off, of course.

When Theo straggled home at half past two, muzzy from the last drink and several more ill-advised kisses with Daphne, Goyle had already been drinking for a while. He was half-sprawled in the low armchair in the sitting room, swigging straight from a bottle. Quite a few of Theo's records were smashed on the floor.

Theo couldn't quite take it all in. "What the hell?"

"All rubbish," Goyle muttered.

Theo could see he'd tried to have a go at the record player too, but had only tipped it over. Smashing records was probably more satisfying. His records…

"You useless shithead! Those were my granddad's!"

"Doin' you a favor," Goyle said darkly, "bloody muggle rubbish."

"You utter arsehole! I'm letting you stay in _my_ flat!"

"I can still take the rubbish out, I can still do that."

Theo tried a Reparo on one of the records.

"You're all a bunch of bloody hypocrites. The Ministry, everyone. I thought a Slytherin would be better, but you're just as bad, won't even look me in the eye."

"And you're such a peach," said Theo.

"Think you're better than me, so bloody enlightened. Think you're some kind of muggle-lover, but you're not, no one is. You all think like us, you all _know_ we're better than them, but we're the only ones who are at least _honest_ about it."

"No, not everybody thinks like you, Goyle."

He gave a short laugh. "The hell you don't. Everyone _knows_ we're better than muggles, that's the _truth_."

"No, it –"

"Go on then, you love them so much, why don't you _be_ one? Snap your wand, go on, we can all have no magic and shite jobs and be miserable together."

"That's not the same thing."

"The hell, the hell… _I'm_ one and you won't look me in the eye! Bloody hypocrite!"

"Look, you…" Theo tried to pull his thoughts together through the haze of alcohol and anger. "You don't have to want to _be_ one to have a problem with killing them all!"

"Not _all_ of them," muttered Goyle, as if that made it better. "He never said that. And he was the only honest one. Only one ever had any use for me."

"Oh merlin, you still bloody _buy_ it! Yeah, he had a use for you because he was bloody _using_ you! He would have killed you in a second if it suited him!"

"No, he only killed the ones who failed him. I wouldn't have failed him."

"You _would_ , everyone failed him eventually."

"And you're one to talk, you signed up to be used by fucking Snape."

"Sure, and if I'd failed him, he wouldn't have bloody _killed_ me."

"No, too much of a pussy for that. Glared at you, I expect. Made a cutting remark. That's how you know you didn't mean anything to him. He's the worst hypocrite of them all. Pretending to be a Slytherin when he was selling us all out. Just because he hated himself he didn't have to screw the rest of us."

"He never made me do anything I didn't want to. And yeah, maybe he sold us out, but he came back and admitted it and told us why."

"Oh, did he say he was _sorry?_ "

"You really think your Dark Lord did us any favors? He preyed on us and used us and ruined us! He ruined your life!"

"Bloody Ministry ruined my life. Put me in Azkaban for telling the truth about muggles."

"Goyle, they put you in Azkaban for casting Cruciatus on kids."

Goyle swung the bottle in a dismissive gesture. "Got the Cruciatus myself. Few times. So what. Made me better for _him_."

Theo felt like he'd been up for days. He sunk into the chair across from Goyle. "Why the hell did you join him, Greg?"

"Like when we were back in the House, in the Hunt."

Goyle was speaking with a dreamy abstraction. Theo wasn't sure he had heard the question.

"- And you're with your mates, and you're making a _plan_. And you all work for it, you're all working together and it's _your_ thing. The best game in the world. Even if you lose nobody can take that from you."

For Theo, the annual Slytherin game of the Hunt meant more backstabbing and intrigue than working together, but he thought he knew the feeling. Something like working with the other eyes. The House had its secrets and there was a heady excitement in being part of them. The best game in the world. He hadn't quite felt that way since… well, since he'd left Hogwarts. Bloody hell, he realized, Goyle joined a death cult because he wanted a _club_.

"And we were willing to die for him and we would have and that meant something. It _meant_ something when Vince, when he…"

He brought the bottle up and drained it.

"So why'd you… why'd you join sodding Snape?"

Theo looked at the wreckage of his flat and Goyle's bloodshot stare.

"For the fucking glory."

Goyle laughed, and at once it was like they were back in the House. Goyle would always laugh when someone got marked in the Hunt. He lurched forward. Theo gripped his wand. He knew from years ago how quickly Goyle could get physical, but he was merely trying to get up. He stood swaying for a moment, then paced very deliberately to his room. The bottle slipped from his fingers on the way. Not that it mattered, it was empty.

* * *

Theo didn't speak to Goyle for the next two days. He hardly saw him. He had quietly removed his record player and all the records he could salvage to the safety of his room. The wards there kept Goyle out, one of the Ministry conditions to the 'residential placement' so he wouldn't have access to a wand. Theo came home from a meeting with Dodger and Phelps about the new prospect, to find Goyle at the kitchen table, counting out crumpled stacks of muggle bills.

"I'm saving, right?" Goyle said, without looking up.

Theo had a rather sick feeling that he was going to propose paying rent. Not that the money was a bad thing, but something about Goyle having even theoretical tenant's rights made him uneasy.

"Got almost £1,300. If Zabini keeps letting me take double-shifts I'll have enough to get my own place in a few months, I reckon."

Theo felt absurdly relieved. "I'm not kicking you out, Goyle."

"A few months, I'll be gone," said Goyle. "So, look, I… I want you to write to your dad."

"I – what?"

"You can write him, can't you?"

Theo hardly knew where to start on that question. " _No_."

Goyle put his hands flat on the table. "I'm not just _asking_ , I need –" He stopped and began again. "I told Mr. Crabbe I'd get him word. I just want to let him know that I'm ok. He hasn't got _anyone_ , Nott."

Theo looked away. They'd had a sort of funeral for Vince a couple of years before, after Snape had finally recovered his remains from the Room of Requirement. The Ministry hadn't given Crabbe leave to attend, due to 'ill health,' whatever that meant.

"He doesn't get on with the others. He didn't resist when the Ministry brought him in, and he, uh, gave them some information. Nothing _important_ , right, but the others don't talk to him. And I knew Vince and he knew my dad, so… it's not like I had anyone either, ok? And _I_ can't write. I can't 'fraternize or collude' with anyone with the Mark, or they'll put me back in, you _know_ that."

"Goyle, I haven't talked to my dad in five years."

"Well, maybe you should. He's your _dad_. He's not so bad."

"Yes, he is. You didn't grow up with him."

"I've lived with him for the past five years. And he'd want to hear from you. And if I ever had the chance to talk to _my_ dad again…"

It felt utterly strange to be guilt-tripped by Goyle, of all people.

"…But I don't, right? And now… Everything the ministry gives you is _poison_ , you know that, right? Like the great privilege. They come to you with the 'Reform and Release Program,' say they'll give you your freedom back, a fucking fresh start? But you better look for the cost, and there it is. _No contact_. The one person… My family walked away from me, and he didn't. And now I'm supposed to never speak another word to him, for the rest of my life? Like, my feelings just stop because I'm out of Azkaban? I'm supposed to just cut him off? I can't do that, it's not _right!"_

"But so what?" said Theo quickly. "It's not like I can pass a message for you. All letters to Azkaban get opened, and it would just get censored out, and you would _still_ get in trouble for trying it."

"No, see," Goyle leaned forward eagerly, "we worked it out, me and Crabbe. We've got a code. We came up with it before I left so I could send word; let him know if I was all right."

This was not one of Goyle's better ideas, and for Goyle, that was saying something.

"I'll tell you what to say. You just write something to your dad, you don't have to mean it –"

"Yeah, I won't."

"- And then put in my bit and sign it and send it. That's all. Crabbe knows I'll be trying to get a message to him; he'll be asking your dad."

"Let me, let me think about it," said Theo, already knowing he would. He had to be careful about what he wrote to his dad after five years of silence. It wouldn't do to have the Ministry suspicious about him and his affairs.

In the end, Theo and Goyle sat together at the kitchen table and worked through a draft. The code wasn't as bad as Theo had assumed. The letter text had to mention a number, which would be the key. The message itself would be composed of the corresponding letter in the corresponding words after that sentence with the key. They settled on three: the third letter of every third word after the number. It took quite a while to work the sentence they agreed on, _GG has job at Helix, all is well_ , into a letter that Theo deemed acceptable. At last they had it.

_Dad –_

_Mum got the paperwork finalized from the house sale. She's on me to tell you; it was back on the third. Won't help arguing; we're done fighting. I'm not inheriting anything with that sort of association. If you enjoy it, I wholeheartedly don't. My ambition is to really and truly cut you off awhile. It won't keep me from, well, dealing with this load of toxic rubbish. At least I'll be able to finally pull up from this mess you designed. If you saw what your lies have done… well, no mea culpa will help._

_Theo._

Goyle wasn't happy about the tone, but Theo persuaded him it would be much less suspicious to the Ministry than anything friendly. Theo duly sealed the letter, not that it mattered, it would be unsealed for inspection, and submitted it for Azkaban delivery.

To Theo's relief, there was no reply.

Two weeks later, Goyle was gone.


	3. The Favor

Maybe he should have Floo-called ahead. Or contacted Ginny with his old DA Galleon. Now he was already standing outside and he still didn't know what to say. The cottage door was painted a cheery red and shone in the rainy evening light.

He was always like this lately, Neville thought. If he tried to deliberate over what he was going to do, the same anxiety he used to get as a kid would come roaring back. He found out in the last year of the war that he was much better at just _doing_ rather than thinking too much about what he was going to do. Of course, back then he'd known that what he was doing was right. Now, well, now there were Slytherins involved and it was _complicated_.

He couldn't keep wavering. These were his friends, after all. Still, he couldn't imagine just asking them for a favor and not explaining a thing. Did Slytherins do that? Maybe it seemed normal to them, but it certainly wasn't for him and his friends. There would be questions.

He approached the door and knocked. It was opened almost immediately by Harry, looking very distracted.

"Hey R- er, Neville?"

"Hi, Harry, I was wondering if I could –"

A reddish blur shot past Harry and hit him square in the chest.

"Neville!" Ginny laughed and swung him around in an embrace. "Did they finally let you out? You're staying for dinner!" She dragged him inside bodily.

"Hi, Neville," said Harry, somewhere behind them.

"Did any of the firsties survive the term?"

"All of them," laughed Neville.

"Who's winning?"

"Hufflepuff, if you can believe it."

"No, I can't. I refuse to accept it."

She pulled him into the kitchen and began pouring wine without asking. Behind him, Neville could hear Harry opening the door again. "There you are!"

"We're not late, are we?" That was Hermione's voice.

"Oh, Ron and Hermione are coming too," said Ginny. "Did you know?"

"No," said Neville. What he needed was a few quiet minutes alone with Harry to explain the situation without explaining the situation. What he got was Ron and Hermione bustling in carrying takeout containers and giving enthusiastic hugs.

"Hey mate," said Ron, "you just showed up? You're eating with us, right? See, Hermione? _That's_ why you always get an extra curry."

"If Neville wasn't here, you would have made a pig of yourself," said Hermione.

"They just let him out for the hols," put in Ginny.

Ron and Hermione were eagerly opening the white cardboard cartons and setting them out along the counter.

"Which one is the veg korma?" asked Hermione. "So, how was your first term?"

"It's, uh, a lot harder than I thought."

Ron laughed. "Did you put some fear in them?"

Ginny smacked him on the arm. " _I'll_ put some fear in you."

"It's all right, Ginny, that's my job now," said Hermione.

"Actually, I just came by to have a word –"

"Don't just stand there, get a plate. There's chicken tikka –" said Ron, "and that's… what's that one?"

"The saag paneer."

"Try the chicken tikka."

"You know, eating a veg wouldn't kill you," said Hermione.

"I don't see how you can _know_ that."

"It's because I'm smarter than you," said Hermione with a straight face.

Neville found that a plate had been thrust into his hands. Well maybe this was better anyhow, and the food smelled fantastic. Soon they were all wedged around the small kitchen table in the warm bright room with piles of fragrant food and glasses of wine.

Harry was right across from him. If only he could –

"Pass the naan, Ron," said Ginny.

"Ha."

"I thought I told you to ask for the chana masala _mild_."

"Seriously? You think _that's_ too spicy?"

"Harry," Neville leaned across the table. "Could I ask you something? In private?"

Of course, it didn't help that everyone had just started chewing when he said the last two words. Now everyone had stopped chewing and was looking at him.

"Er…" said Harry.

"Never mind," said Neville at the same time.

"So," said Ron in the silence, "everything all right, mate?"

Neville sighed. " _I'm_ fine, it's just… nothing."

" _No_ , Neville. Do _not_ do this. If something's wrong, you need to tell us," said Hermione.

"I really am fine, it's…" He stopped. He could see it on their faces, that look. He knew it from that last year of the war. It was the not-giving-up look. The all-in-this-together look. The deep streak of stubbornness that had kept them all alive hadn't left any of them, really. They would not let this go and Neville couldn't just lie to them. Maybe it would be better, after all, to have more minds on the problem. They were all waiting.

He took a deep breath and turned to Ginny. "Remember when we were talking about the eyes? One of them came to me for help with something."

"Neville, that's great! You have to help them."

"Wait a minute," said Ron. "What are we talking about?"

"You know, the eyes…"

"Right, the Slytherins who were sneaking around with Snape," said Ron.

" _Ron_ ," said Hermione.

"You can't seriously trust them. They're _liars_. Slytherins will turn on you, guaranteed."

"If some of them were on our side -" said Hermione.

"Some of them _say_ they were on our side, but who they are and what they did is a big secret. I mean, come on, it's too convenient. If they really wanted to be on our side, they could have just _been_ on it. Stood up and resisted. Fought back instead of sneaking around. We did it. Now they're just trying to hang on to the highest broom. We don't know that they did anything."

"Well, except Bulstrode," said Harry. Hermione winced. "But you do have a point."'

" _No_ , Harry, you weren't there." Ginny looked around at them. "Ron, Hermione, I love you, but you weren't there, and you don't know. You don't know what it was like. I'm not saying what you went through was any better. I know it wasn't. But you _can't_ know. We were living with Death Eaters, we were _right_ under them, all the time. Everything we did blew back on somebody, there was no getting out of that. A lot of people couldn't stand up to that, and you know what? I don't blame them.

"Look, after it was all over, a girl, I'm not going to say who, came up to me to thank me for being part of the resistance. She said, 'for standing up for those who couldn't themselves.' And I said something really stupid about how anyone could stand up if they had the heart for it. And she said it wouldn't have been _heart_ to get her little sister tortured. And you know, she was right. We can't know the reasons of the people who couldn't join us openly. Neville and me, we were lucky, I guess. Or we didn't think too much about anyone else.

"Some of us in the DA talked about it. We don't know who the eyes were, except for Bulstrode, but looking back, we did see the effect of what they were doing. The Carrows would be misdirected sometimes, or just missing. And the records that got destroyed – you told me about that, Neville."

"Yeah, they got rid of a lot of the enrollment forms in the Hogwarts archives, so the Carrows couldn't track families."

"So, sneaking around stuff," said Ron.

Ginny gave him a look. "What we were doing was _hard_ , and terrifying. But we were doing it for ourselves, and our friends, and our families. We knew you were behind us and rooting for us. It kept us going. It would have been _so_ much harder if we were working _against_ our friends and families. That's what the eyes were doing. They couldn't be open about that."

"Well, so what? If their friends and family are a bunch of blood-supremacists, they should be glad to be quit of them," said Ron.

"Oh, come on," said Hermione. "It's not easy losing your family."

"Look, Ron," said Ginny. "Percy talked to me about it. I guess he thought I'd understand more than… about when he went against the family. He said it was the hardest thing he's ever done. The worst time of his life. But he did it because it was what he thought was right."

"He was dead wrong about that, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, and he told me he was never happier to be wrong about anything. He wasn't sure he could ever do it again, going against all of us, even if he _knew_ he was right."

"So they're a bunch of Slytherin Percys. Wonderful."

"They're a bunch of people who were on our side and could lose a _lot_ if they went public. No, the DA already discussed this, and we decided. We owe them."

"Oh, you decided did you?"

Yes," said Ginny smugly, "we had a meeting a few years ago. We decided. If they need something, we have to help them. They risked everything to do what was right. They were part of the resistance and part of the victory. They wouldn't be asking for anything wrong now."

Ron shook his head at her.

"What do they need help with?" asked Harry.

"Uh… they need to get Gregory Goyle's parole check waived."

"What was that you were just saying, Ginny? I think I missed it," said Ron.

"Ok, this doesn't sound right," said Hermione. "If they were on our side, why would they want to help Goyle?"

"It's a little complicated," Neville admitted. "One of them has been putting him up and helped him find a job. His wand's been snapped, and he's permanently barred from using magic. They figured if he was just living on the muggle streets, he would end up hurting someone."

"What do you think about your 'Reform and Release' program now, Hermione?"

"Seriously, Ron, stop."

"And then a few days ago he went missing. The place where he was staying was wiped of all traces of him. The eyes are trying to buy enough time to find him without him breaking his parole."

"Well, maybe he should break his parole," said Harry, "then we can start looking for him. The Auror department. Officially."

"They don't want that. If he's run off himself, he'll get sent back to Azkaban. And if someone took him or something, they think he'll be put back for his own protection. Either way, he wouldn't get out again for a long time. This is his one chance. They don't want it to get ruined."

"I can think of a few chances he ruined all on his own," said Harry.

"Sure," said Neville. "I don't like him; I think he's horrible. But he has been paying for it. He'll be paying his whole life. One of the eyes asked me, 'do people get better or worse in Azkaban?' I think the eyes are right; it's better if they find him before the Ministry knows he's gone."

"Neville's right. We owe the eyes and he has to help them," said Ginny. "Harry, you're helping him too."

"I… what?" Harry looked at her steely gaze. "Of course I'll help you, Neville. What do you need?"

"Well, that's just it; I don't know where to start. All I know is that the parole check is on Monday."

"I can find out the place and time for you. That's simple enough; it'll be in his file."

"Hey, Harry," said Ron, "we could find out about one of the eyes that way. His residence would be in the file."

Harry shook his head. "The name's been redacted; it's above our clearance."

"Harry," said Ginny carefully, "were you looking him up?"

"Not especially. We do have to keep an eye on released Death Eaters, it's part of our job."

"Hmm." She stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork rather forcefully. Harry mouthed 'thanks' across the table at Ron.

"Do parole checks ever get waived or postponed? That would be the place to start," said Hermione, reasonably. "What if someone's sick or in hospital, for instance?"

"If they're in St. Mungos, they just send the officer to them. If they're in a muggle hospital, then I think the protocol is to polyjuice the officer as a muggle nurse or doctor, and check on them that way."

"Something like that," agreed Ron.

"Well, that's it then," said Hermione. "Neville, you could polyjuice yourself as Goyle and do the check for him."

"Really?" Neville looked at the excited faces around the table.

"Would that work?" said Ginny. Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged.

"Actually, I think it might. But that means getting hold of Polyjuice at short notice. It _is_ restricted."

"Oh, I have some," said Hermione. Everyone stared at her. "I always have some on hand, just in case."

"You scare me sometimes," said Ron.

"Good," she said.

"But I wouldn't know the first thing about getting through a parole check," said Neville. This was definitely getting over his head. He found that he didn't entirely mind the thought of being in over his head again.

"I sat in on one in training," said Ron. "There really isn't much to it. They ask about residence and employment, and it sounds like you know that already. And then they do a cast spells check and a drug test. That's about it."

Neville nodded slowly. He'd faced worse in the DA.

"There's the matter of the hair," said Hermione. "Do the eyes have one?"

"Don't think so. They told me the flat was completely cleared out of all traces of him."

Harry looked at Ron and raised his eyebrows. "I wonder if Draco would have something of his?"

"Sure!" Ron was finally showing enthusiasm. "With the way they were always stuck to each other."

"You mean go to the manor?" said Hermione, making a face.

"No, he's living in a townhouse in Dulwich."

" _Harry."_

"Part of my job, Ginny."

"Right," said Hermione briskly, "you'd better go to him for the hair straight away. If we can't get one, we'll need time to come up with a new plan."

"What, _now?"_ said Harry.

"All on you, mate," said Ron, dishing another helping of the chicken tikka.

"It's on me, too," said Neville. "I'm coming."

* * *

The street was, in a word, posh.

"I thought the Malfoys were kind of broke. I mean, with all the fines…" Neville said.

"It turns out they had some accounts and assets out of the country. We're still not sure about all of their assets."

Neville looked at him.

"I'm not stalking him. Ginny thinks I'm taking an 'unhealthy interest.' I'm _not_ , it really is part of the job. I just looked him up a couple of times."

"Okay."

"Come on."

The door was set back up a short flight of white steps, a brass knocker gleaming against the dark wood of the door. The knocker didn't produce any results. "It _is_ Saturday night," said Neville.

Harry frowned and knocked again, somehow sounding very official. _They must teach that in Auror training_ , Neville thought. Were those footsteps? There was silence again. Harry gave another official knock. A viewhole clicked. The door opened.

"Potter. Longbottom. What a surprise. Won't you come in?"

Neville was reminded strongly of when he had seen Draco last. Two years ago, when his father had been granted a second sentencing hearing based on Snape's testimony of his cooperation. Harry had insisted that they try to talk to Snape and Neville went along to make sure everything went well. You couldn't say it had gone _well_ , exactly. He had taken Harry out for a drink afterwards, they both needed it. "I just thought he might have… he could at least have…"

Harry didn't need to say the words 'changed' and 'apologized,' Neville knew what he meant. "Maybe some people just can't. He really didn't want to see us, Harry. You could tell it was hard for him. He could have just left. But he didn't. He sat and talked to us. He told us things that he didn't want to. And I think he was being honest. Maybe that's all he can give you right now. But at least, well, it wasn't really about _you,_ was it? Or me either. It sounds like it never was."

"Yeah," Harry said. "That's… something."

At the beginning of that meeting, Draco had been smugly in control. It was almost as if he was taunting Snape in some way. He insisted on telling Neville and Harry a rather dubious story of Snape's arrest and interrogation during the first war. He heavily implied that Neville's father along with Crouch and Moody had been his interrogators, but that Snape had been forced to take an Unbreakable Vow of silence as a condition of his release. Of course, it might explain a few things about Snape's antipathy to him, but as his grandmother always said, 'you must consider the source.' The source was, well, not exactly reliable. And Snape certainly wasn't talking about it. It was all completely unverifiable. _Convenient_ , Ron would have said. At the time, Neville wasn't sure he really wanted to find out.

Draco had quickly lost that confidence though, by the end of that meeting the facade had slipped and it was quite clear he was having a hard time too, had been for years in all probability. Nothing but the smug control was visible now.

"Excuse the mess, I wasn't expecting company."

Draco let them into a pleasant sitting room dominated by the glowering yellow stare of the Malfoy family owl. He idly picked up a glass from a low table in front of the settee and drifted towards the mantle. The owl shifted on its perch, lowering its head between hunched wings and swaying slightly. It made a convulsive movement with its neck and opened its beak wide to expel a large slimy grey pellet. It puffed its feathers and settled, satisfied. Draco made a face and set the glass on the mantle.

"Please." He gestured at the settee. There was still an empty glass on the table, Neville saw.

There was silence. Draco was watching them. "Right. Should I keep forcing pleasantries, or are you going to tell me why you're here?"

"It's about Goyle," said Harry.

"So this is _official?_ " He looked curiously at Neville. "I haven't had any contact with him for a few years. Under the terms of the Reform and Release Program - you _are_ familiar with it? No contact between marked individuals, excepting immediate family or under Ministry supervision. I'd consent to a Veritaserum test on that."

"No, nothing like that," said Harry. "This isn't official."

"Then what on earth is it, Potter?"

"He's gone missing," said Neville.

"What?" Draco looked from one to the other. "Well, _I_ haven't got him. And if it's not official… why are you here, exactly?"

Neville sighed. It did come down to him, after all. "One of the eyes came to me for help. We thought you might have something of Goyle's. Like a hair."

"To make a tracker," said Draco.

Neville looked at Harry. It probably wouldn't matter, he couldn't imagine Draco running to the Ministry with the news. "Uh, for Polyjuice. I'm going to cover his parole check for him."

"Right, I, _right_." Draco rubbed his forehead. "You _didn't_ just say that and _I_ didn't just hear that and I know _nothing_ about that."

"We don't care about that," said Harry. "Do you have something of his?"

"As I said, Potter, I haven't been in contact with him for years. I don't have anything here."

"Somewhere else?"

Draco sighed. "There might be something of his at the manor."

"Well?"

"I, uh, wouldn't advise you just turning up, Potter. Do you really want to go reminding my mother of what you owe her?"

"You go," said Harry coolly. "We'll wait."

There was a tense pause.

"Fine, _fine."_ Draco abruptly went over to the Floo. He looked at them once before shaking his head, throwing in the powder and stepping through. The cloud of ash settled in the hearth. The owl stretched its wings and subsided.

Harry stood and headed back to the short hall leading from the entrance. Neville turned to look. "Harry?"

He was opening a door off the hall.

"Harry!"

"What?"

"What are you doing?"

"There were two glasses on the table when we came in. Malfoy moved one of them; he didn't want us to notice. Someone else was here before we came in."

"Or he's not very good at tidying up."

"Come on, we're going to look around."

"What if he comes back?"

"We were looking for the lav. Come on."

"What was that one?" asked Neville.

"Cloak and broom closet. You take the left side."

"Don't you need a, a…"

"Warrant? No."

"But -"

"We're not here in any official capacity. We're dropping in on an old school chum."

"Hmm."

"He invited us in. And he let us stay when he left. And he didn't say a thing about _not_ searching the place."

It didn't sound _right_ exactly, but not necessarily illegal.

"What are we looking for?"

"Anything," said Harry darkly.

Bit of a broad category, thought Neville, opening the door to the left of the sitting room. "Kitchen!" he called out.

"Look around," Harry called back.

It looked mostly like a kitchen. A potted amaryllis sat on the window sill above the sink, some pans hung on a wall rack and an iron skillet on the stove. A butter dish, half a loaf of bread and a coffee press with grounds still in it sat on the counter. Lower cabinets had some brewing equipment and crackers. A black-and-white photo of a Paris street scene hung over a seating nook, showing people strolling by while a bread cart was loaded at a bakery.

Neville tried one of the upper cabinets; it was the cold cabinet. A jug of milk, a packet of sausages, produce… and some strange round bundles along the back of the top shelf. Neville picked one up gingerly. It was a ball about the size of a plum, wrapped in waxed paper. He pulled the wrapping apart to reveal crumbling reddish dirt. _Dirt?_ Or perhaps some sort of dough? He put the bundle back. Draco may have changed since the war, but picturing him baking was somehow a step too far.

He closed the cabinet door and went back into the sitting room. "Harry?"

"Find anything?" The voice came from up a staircase, off to the right.

"Just some dirt, I think."

Harry came down the stairs. "So, bad at tidying up after all?"

Neville shrugged. "Anything up there?"

Harry gave a frustrated grunt.

They were both sitting quietly on the settee when Draco came in through the Floo a few minutes later. He was carrying something, a hideous olive jumper.

"Here," he said, thrusting it towards them. Neville reached out and took it.

"Any hair in it?" said Harry.

"I don't know. Take the whole thing. Go on, there's nothing else left. All that's over."

Neville couldn't help thinking that it would be more convenient for Malfoy if it was.

They stood and headed for the door. As they stepped out into the evening rain, Malfoy's voice called from behind them. "Find anything, Potter?"

"Should I?" Harry called back. They apparated away.

* * *

They held their strategy meeting on Sunday in Harry's dining room. The jumper had been spread out on the table and divested of a single hair. It was probably Goyle's, as Hermione said, "it certainly isn't Malfoy's."

Hermione had contributed a vial of Polyjuice, Harry and Ron the time and place of the parole check and instructions on how to get in. Ron quizzed him with questions the parole officer would ask, and Ginny told him to slouch more. He _would_ be ready for tomorrow. He had to be.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the events referenced here are from chapter 21 of The Good Friend. Thank you so much for reading!


	4. No Trouble

**Chapter 4: No trouble**

Knockturn Alley had changed since the war. Ministry raids closed some of the more unwary establishments, and now most sellers dealing in Dark artifacts or restricted ingredients were avoiding brick-and-mortar altogether in favor of cautious word of mouth to trusted contacts. There were shuttered storefronts, at least those that hadn't yet been replaced by blander offerings. Prices had skyrocketed, particularly for unregistered wands, brooms, and portkeys. One thing was still the same; the rents were considerably cheaper than Diagon Alley. Daphne had a flat above a second-hand wand and broom shop and a short walk to her job at Gringotts. She liked it well enough. The food was cheaper and much better than Diagon Alley and several members of the House from '99 and 2000 lived a few buildings down from her. Dodger had only _just_ managed to graduate in 2000, but then his plans didn't exactly involve resumes and references and school transcripts.

Daphne went up the narrow back stairs of the old Eelmarket Building, out a service door to a rickety metal stair landing wedged between two crumbling brick walls, and up the clanking last flight to Dodger's back door. She banged loudly. After a second lot of pounding, the viewhole, in the unlikely shape of a fat cherub's face, clicked open. A large eye blinked at her.

"You leave him alone."

"I'm not interested in him, Lou, you know that."

The viewhole clicked shut and there was a lengthy deciding silence. Phelps finally opened the door. "It's not you I'm worried about."

"Hi, Lou," said Daphne, smiling up into his long mournful face. "Has Dodger been bad?"

"Yes," said Phelps.

"No!" came Dodger's voice from down the hall.

Phelps sighed and stepped aside to let Daphne in, setting a locking charm on the door.

"Not _very_ bad, and anyway, you know I'm sorry." Dodger came round the corner, knotting a sky-blue silk necktie. "Come in, Daphne, what can we do for you?"

"I'm looking for someone."

Phelps followed them to the flat's sitting room. Dodger turned to him and smoothed down the tie. "Better?"

"Better," said Phelps.

" _People_ aren't really in our line, Daphne."

"I don't need you to get me someone, I just want to know if you've seen them. You two see everyone, don't you?"

Dodger shrugged. "Who?"

"Well, I'd need a Good Faith, first."

Dodger looked over at Phelps. Phelps looked as dour as ever.

"A Good Faith to what? To tell you? I wouldn't touch that, sight unseen."

"No, just to keep the conversation private," said Daphne.

"Everything we do is private."

"Yeah, I know, but I'd still need the Good Faith first."

"Daphne, darling," he said sweetly.

Phelps huffed.

"Don't be rude, Lou. Daphne, you're the one who's coming to us. I'm not particularly interested in entering a lot of Good Faiths without a sale. That's how people get in trouble and lose track of their contracts."

"All right, Dee. So how much would it be for a Good Faith for the three of us. That my information to you remains between us only."

"And releasable on your word."

"Granted," said Daphne.

Dodger looked at Phelps. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly to the right. "Say, sixty galleons," said Dodger.

"Twenty-five, and an automatic release after two months."

"We'll take the release, but better make it fifty."

"Lou, how bad _was_ he?"

"Forty will do," said Dodger.

Daphne made an attempt at thirty, mostly for show, but discussion swung quickly back around to thirty-eight. She set the coins in a dish on the coffee table that held loose change and a broken owl jess.

"...That the information I share with both of you today, the 13th of December, 2003, remains between the three of us only, until released by my word or on the 13th of February, 2004, whichever comes first."

"In Good Faith," Dodger said, shaking her hand, followed by Phelps.

"All right, Daphne, what's all this about?" said Dodger.

"Goyle's gone missing from Theo's place. We don't know if he left voluntarily. Have either of you seen him or heard anything about it?"

Dodger looked at Phelps. "We saw him, what, the weekend before last? He was working at Helix."

"He went missing on Thursday. Have you seen him since then?"

"No, don't think so. Why all the secrecy then?"

"We don't want anything to get out with his parole check coming up."

"Well, no worries with us on _that_ account."

"Have you heard anything? Anyone on the Dark Market talking about him? Anyone have plans to get him out of the country or something?"

"I wouldn't think so. Everyone has their heads down, nowadays. I can't really imagine anyone sticking their neck out for him. It's not like he went around doing people favors, so no one owes him one. Nott's worried about him?"

"He doesn't want any scrutiny if the parole check is missed."

"Nott needs to keep his flat and his accounts _clean_. If he's been doing that, he should have no trouble."

"No trouble," said Daphne, "we just think it's better if he's found."

"No trouble," agreed Dodger, "we'll let you know if we hear anything."

* * *

Bulstrode had absolutely no desire to go to London. London was full of _people_. And people were _idiots_. Also, Goyle was definitely an idiot. And on his idiot account she was going to have to go to London. Load of rubbish.

She'd spent all day in the Hogwarts administrative offices working on reports and there were at least three full days of work left to go. The marks for last term were almost in, and the accounts of fall term expenses. Or they would be if half the professors would get off their arses and submit bloody receipts. And sodding none of them had their supplies requests in for next term, count on bloody professors to not get their forms in on time. She'd love to take points if she could, but at least she had her 'Denied' stamp, red ink pad replenished and ready.

She could have pulled overtime, but then she'd have to fill out the overtime authorization form, and then approve and file it, and frankly, she couldn't be arsed. Sometimes she briefly regretted instituting that form, but it had proven very valuable in keeping track of staff comings and goings. If any of them were going to try to lurk about when she thought she had the run of the place, she needed to know. She did not want to run into anyone when she was on her own business. Currently, her business lay in London, however.

She flooed out from the administrative offices to one of the unmonitored Floos in Knockturn Alley, then walked through a few muggle neighborhoods to Zabini's club. Bulstrode hated clubs, and this one was particularly rubbish. At least it was far too early for it to be open. She went around to the side entrance off the alley and banged on the door. Finally, the blunt bald head of the club's bouncer poked out.

"We're closed. Can't you bloody read?"

"It's Bulstrode to see Zabini."

"Come back at nine."

" _Bulstrode. Zabini,_ " she pronounced slowly.

" _We're. Closed_ ," he said, matching her.

"How loud do I get before you go get him to shut me up?" she said in a low voice.

He tried staring her down. Bulstrode smiled, showing her teeth. He grunted in disgust. "Oh, bloody…" The door slammed behind him as he disappeared inside. A few minutes later, Zabini was letting her in.

"He's new, Bulstrode."

"Right."

"Come on. I was just cleaning up the books for the end of the year."

She could see the bouncer staring at her resentfully from the other end of the corridor as Zabini led her back to his office. A quiet space, unlike the flashiness of the club. Zabini had two long ledger books and a calendar spread out on his desk.

"Sign permit came through," he said conversationally as he sat. "Don't know if _his_ letter played a part, but the review board finally got off their arses and stamped the thing. Of course, it still has to pass design review as not 'discernibly magical,' so they can still hold me up. I've got Rosalind Vaisey working on it to look like neon. No words, just the Helix symbol."

Bulstrode grunted. "Sounds rubbish."

Zabini laughed. "Good! Since you are deeply uncool and actively hate fun, I think I'm on the right track. Speaking of which, what dragged you out here, honey? You hate this place."

"What'd you find out from the kitchen crew?"

"Oh, the Goyle thing! I asked them a couple of days ago. Forgot all about it. I didn't get much. Goyle never hangs around with the crew except for smoking up on the loading dock sometimes. At least until his parole officer went off on him about it. 'Narcotics usage.' I had to sign off on his release that he'd have no access to weed. _Idiots_. They know he works at a nightclub, right?"

"You'd think," said Bulstrode.

"He has missed some shifts now, which isn't like him. He usually tries to pick up extra shifts when he can. Nobody heard him talking about taking time off. Mostly the crew assumed he went off on a tear or something, they've been covering."

"Been seen with anyone in particular?"

"No one on the crew. You mean friends visiting? Not likely. One of the kitchen elves saw him smoking up on the dock with a woman once, a few weeks ago. Call girl from the alley, maybe."

"Trying to pick _him_ up? With all his money?"

"Or score weed, who knows?"

"Get a description."

"From Gloff? He's useless with humans. At least he pretends he can't tell me apart from my general manager. Little snot."

"Get one."

"Listen, Bulstrode, he's useless and I'm busy. It's the middle of the bloody hols!"

"Go on."

"Do I owe you and I've forgotten?" He was pulling his ledgers and quill back towards him over the desk.

"Course you do."

"On what, the building and sign permits? That was Snape, honey, not you."

"Who called the meeting for Snape to pay his debts?"

"Oh, calling a meeting's a big favor now?"

"It's no big favor, it's a five minute walk to your own bloody kitchen. Get off your arse."

"Ugh, fine. But you're coming too, you're part of this."

Bulstrode grunted. It was probably just as well to listen to the description first-hand. Still, she hated those squeaky elf voices.

Down a back corridor, they passed through a swinging door and Bulstrode could the mingled scents of cooking, old beer, and rubbish bins off the loading dock. Someone was stacking pony kegs out the back and there were a couple of elves in the kitchen.

Zabini called one over. "Hey, Gloff."

He left his chopping. "Oh, sir? Yes?"

There it was, that pitch that seemed to go right to Bulstrode's back teeth. And Bulstrode had a _lot_ of back teeth.

"Gloff," said Zabini, "that woman you were telling me about. The one hanging around the loading dock?"

The elf bobbed his head.

"I want you to describe her for me."

"Oh, yes, yes! Gloff is very good at seeing things, yes. She is some bird."

Zabini gave Bulstrode a wry look. "Describe how she looked," he said slowly.

"Oh, she could not be so good at looking at things as Gloff is, oh, no sir."

Bulstrode breathed out audibly out through her nose.

"How tall was she?" Zabini tried.

"Oh, tall, as tall as a human, yes!"

"Fine. How about hair?" said Zabini carefully.

"Yes, she had many, many hairs!"

"Eyes?"

Gloff leaned in conspiratorially. "There were two of them, I know it!"

Bulstrode's fingers itched with the urge to squeeze something until it broke. She looked up at a corner of the ceiling and cracked her knuckles. Gloff jumped at the sound.

"What did they look like?" Bulstrode's voice was low and Gloff's eyes opened wide.

"Some bird, sir, just some bird," Gloff whispered.

Bulstrode growled.

"Bulstrode, I told you he's useless. Come on now. Or do you think you can get more out of him?"

She felt her lip curl back from her teeth.

"It's the middle of the hols, I _need_ my kitchen crew. Come on."

Bulstrode followed him out. _Bloody useless_.

* * *

They were to meet in the usual spot, the almost unbearably twee tea shop near the Croydon tube. Draco was already waiting at a table when Theo arrived. The Ministry no longer monitored Draco's movements, one of his last parole restrictions, but both of them were more comfortable with a neutral location away from wizards' eyes. Theo was actually looking forward to a productive conversation for a change. His inquiries on the dark market into Goyle's whereabouts over the weekend had been useless and frustrating, and from what he'd heard from Daphne, the rest hadn't any luck either. Point-Me's, directional charms, everything was blocked. Theo ordered a coffee and joined Draco.

"I made it as far as Slovenia this time. There's a few points in the South Tyrol and Austria. I put the coordinates in," Draco was saying as he pulled out five small packets.

Theo sipped his coffee and peeled back the wrapper on one of the packets: A clump of reddish dirt and a small slip of paper. He closed it again.

"Farther would be better," said Theo.

"Yes, I know," said Draco shortly. "I couldn't get close to the Strait this time, the winds were against me."

"I can do £40 each."

" _Nott_."

"Take it or leave it." Theo knew he'd take it.

"Fine."

"I'll have it for you next week. Go farther next time."

Draco sighed, but Theo knew he wouldn't object strongly.

"There's another thing. Goyle's gone missing and the flat's cleared out. I'm looking for something of his to make a tracker. Do you have any old -"

" _What?_ "

"He went missing a few days ago, We don't think -"

"Bloody hell, of all the idiot -"

"We _don't_ think he went off on his own."

"Not that, Zero, you need to get your people on the same page."

"What?"

Draco shook his head at him. "I _just_ did that. A couple of days ago."

"Did what?"

"Dug up an old jumper of Goyle's. Potter and Longarse came to collect it."

"They _what?_ " Theo made an effort to keep his voice down.

"They told me about Goyle going missing. They had some plan about keeping the parole officer off with Polyjuice."

"Damn it! I thought they were going to just fudge the paperwork or something."

"Frankly, it sounded idiotic, but I thought I'd better not know too much about it."

Theo shook his head at him in exasperation.

"Well, I wasn't going to refuse to help, was I? I can't exactly afford to be uncooperative these days." Draco gave a crooked smile. "You know the sort of thing, the spirit of cooperation without going very far? I feel I've become a bit of an expert in the art."

Theo groaned. "I suppose they've gone and done it already."

"Anyway, I haven't anything else of his. All that's gone. A long time ago."

"Yeah."

"Not that I don't wish you the best of luck and all, but I'm not really part of this. You'll have the funds next week?"

"Go farther next time," said Theo, rising.

* * *

The noise came first. The smell was second. Neville supposed it made sense. After all, Notice-me-nots and magical wards and barriers would block parolees just as much as muggles. The swirling, pecking, stinking mass of pigeons outside the so-called 'Advisory Council on the Preservation of Historical Maladies and Pestilences Trust' would keep any sane muggle away while allowing the parolees though without trouble. Well, aside from the mess. Neville grunted and started to wade through the noisome flock. The transfiguration into Goyle had been an unpleasant, queasy affair, and the smell of the pigeons wasn't helping. They bobbed and waddled and cooed and murmured around his feet. Luna had told him in all seriousness once that birds were the direct evolutionary descendants of dragons. Looking at their red eyes now, he could almost believe it. He'd always got on better with Trevor the toad than any of the school owls. There was just something so cold and predatory about owls, silent hunters, swooping down out of the darkness and well… that was the end of some poor creature. He supposed toads were predators too, but their slow movements and soft folds were just friendlier, somehow.

The last few pigeons between him and the door fluttered out of the way. That only left the ranks perched on the pediment over the door whose droppings had almost entirely obscured the brass plaque and streaked the door handle. He wished he still had his wand with him to cast a Protego over his head, but no, of course he had to leave it behind. Ron and Harry had been very clear on that. It was currently two streets away, tucked away behind the toilet tank of the tube station lav where he took the Polyjuice.

Neville pulled the sleeve of Goyle's hideous jumper over his hand and quickly twisted the dropping-caked knob, then plunged through.

He was in a rather depressing waiting room with a few dingy mustard-colored chairs and a low table with an assortment of leaflets. Bossanova played softly from a tinny speaker. There wasn't any desk or service window, just an unmarked door, so Neville supposed he had to wait. He sat on one of the chairs, remembering Ginny's instructions to slouch. He looked at the leaflets on the table.

_Poxes, and How To Spot Them._

_Melancholia, The Black Humour._

_Do_ _ **You**_ _Have the Ague?_

_Hysteria and the Scourge of Wandering Wombs._

_Whatever Happened to Dropsy?_

Neville leaned back with a sigh. There was a burst of cooing as the front door snapped open. A figure rushed through holding a folded newspaper over his head. He pushed the door closed and leaned against it for a moment shaking the paper out. It was Stan Shunpike, wearing some kind of muggle uniform. He tapped the brim of his peaked cap. "Goyle."

 _Damn, how well did Goyle know him? Would he be expected to answer?_ Neville settled for a grunt and a nod as Shunpike sank into one of the chairs. The bossanova stuttered and was replaced by a burst of static.

"Goyle? Mr. Goyle, report to the door."

 _Saved._ He went to the door quickly.

"Mr. Shunpike, feet _off_ the table and wait until you are called…"

Neville could hear the music return as the door swung open in front of him.

He stepped into a short hall with a DMLE guard at the end, waiting for him. He swallowed. The door shut behind him with a click. There was no going back now.

The guard had him hold up his arms and he was subjected to a series of Accios to check for weapons or wand. He was ushered through another door to where a middle-aged blonde woman in a crisp DMLE uniform waited for him.

"Mr. Goyle. This way, please," she said briskly. It must be his parole officer, Linda Drayton, Harry had said. Her face had hard lines of authority etched in it, softened a bit by age. Pinched lines around her mouth showed a long history of pursing her lips.

They were in a small spare room with cabinets in the corner, two doors, two chairs, and a table. Neville sat, the officer across from him. She glanced at her clipboard and set it on the table.

"Reports of your employment and weekly hours are in order. You've improved your attendance." It was a statement of fact, not praise. "Drugs?"

It took Neville a moment to get his voice to work. It felt utterly strange to have it come out as Goyle's. "Er, no."

" _Marijuana?_ " she asked pointedly.

Neville felt himself flushing. "No."

"Good. I shouldn't like to have to caution you again, Mr. Goyle. Address the same? Living situation stable?"

"Yeah."

She made a few check marks with her quill. Neville found himself breathing more easily. Perhaps this wouldn't be so difficult after all.

"Good." She looked at him searchingly. "Mr. Goyle. My role is not to be a counselor in any way. However, when I see a parolee reverting to an 'old style,' I become concerned."

"Uh, what?"

" _This._ " She waved her quill in a circle in his direction. "Returning to a former hairstyle, old clothing, even gaining weight back."

Neville felt his stomach drop. The hair they'd used in the potion was five years old, and people coming out of Azkaban didn't look the same as when they went in.

"You may not believe me, but we _do_ want you to succeed in this program. However, that requires a dedication to reform and _no backsliding_. I want to _see_ the dedication. Is that clear?"

"Uh, yes ma'am."

"Remove yourself from your past and dedicate yourself to your _future_ , Mr. Goyle, or you won't have one."

"Yes, ma'am."

She gave a short nod and detached a small square of paper from her clipboard, printed with a faint grid. She slid it across the table to him. Neville picked it up by its edge.

"Mr. Goyle," she said impatiently.

There wasn't anything on the card except for the grid. Neville looked at the officer at a loss.

"If you are attempting to avoid another caution on drugs, I assure you that delaying will _not_ help."

"No, I -"

She huffed in irritation, took his wrist with one hand, and firmly pressed his thumb to the middle of the card with the other. Neville felt a prick as a tiny needle embedded in the paper caught the pad of his thumb and left a smear of blood across the card. Officer Drayton picked it up and waved it briskly to dry it.

"I continue to have high hopes for you, Mr. Goyle. Please do _not_ disappoint me."

She set the card on the table and tapped it with her wand. The first sections of the grid lit briefly in sequence, then went out again.

"Negative on narcotics. You see, Mr. Goyle? Wasn't it foolish to -" she stopped abruptly. A deep purple line was extending through the last squares of the grid.

She stared at him intently, then stood and walked to the cabinet on the wall without a word. She came back with an unlabeled potion vial.

"I don't know who you are or what game you think you're playing, but it ends _now_. You drink the counter-potion now or we wait until the Polyjuice wears off. And I _don't_ like to wait."

"What? I'm not -"

" _No._ The test is clear. You didn't think that potions are included? If you _are_ Mr. Goyle and this is some clumsy attempt to show a clean result on the drug test, let me assure you that coming up positive on a restricted potion is _much worse._ "

"No, I-"

"Are you going to take it, or do we wait it out?"

It was a good question. Neville definitely needed a minute to think this through. He didn't have a wand on him, there was no way he would get out past the guard and the security door. It didn't seem like Officer Drayton was going to force him to drink the counter-potion, but she didn't need to. Once the Polyjuice wore off, she would see exactly who he was. And then what?

"I'm waiting."'

He could have been with his gran this afternoon; she had asked him to come help her make her special brandy pudding. He'd begged off. It hadn't gone over well. She could always tell when he was lying. What on earth was he going to tell Officer Drayton?

He _had_ to keep Harry and Ron out of it, they could lose their jobs. The Auror department wouldn't exactly be happy with them helping a criminal violate parole. Merlin, Hermione too, a solicitor distributing a restricted potion? Neville had a horrible vision of how quickly he could destroy all of their futures with a few words. He would have to keep them all out of it.

Would he lose his own job? Neville tried to remember if there was anything about arrests or convictions in his contract. Actually, considering past Hogwarts employees, he doubted it would be a problem.

" _Well?_ "

"Just, just a moment," he said desperately.

And then there was Nott. No, he absolutely _couldn't._ It was one thing for _him_ to face an angry DMLE officer, with his commendation from the Ministry and his Order of Merlin, second class. It would be something much, much worse for the son of a Death Eater who was currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban for crimes against wizard- and muggle-kind. No, this would have to be on him and _only_ him.

He picked up the vial and downed it. The second transformation was as bad as the first. When the final shudder passed, he looked up at Officer Drayton. She was staring at him in bewilderment. " _What?_ "

"It was all a mistake. I did _not_ mean for it to come to this."

"I should say not, Mr. Longbottom! What on earth did you think you were doing?"

"It was just a stupid… I'm sorry. I was trying to _fix_ things."

"Perhaps you had better explain from the beginning."

"Yes." Neville took a breath and hoped his idea would hold together.

"It was last night. I went to that club, uh Helix. I didn't know that Goyle was working there. I saw him and… It was like it all came back. I got so angry. I could see him torturing people. _Kids._ He used to laugh. Look, I know I wasn't thinking clearly, but there he was, like nothing had happened. I felt like I had to do _something._

"I struck up a conversation with him, like I was trying to let bygones be bygones. Bought him a drink. And then… uh, I dosed the drink. A dreamless sleep potion. I, uh, I need them for myself sometimes, I happened to have it on me..."

" _What?"_

"I know. I don't even know what I was planning to do. I had some idea about humiliating him somehow, dressing him up and leaving him somewhere. I don't know. But he was talking to me over the drink, and it was just, well, pathetic. He was talking about this parole check coming up, his job. He really doesn't have much of a life. I was already feeling like such a prat, but by then it was too late, he'd already had the drink. It knocked him out. He's still sleeping it off. I swear I didn't do anything else to him, but I realized if I made him miss his parole check I would seriously ruin what was left of his life. Look, I screwed up. I know that. I was a complete idiot and I'm just trying to make it right."

Officer Drayton took a long breath and turned her clipboard face down on the table. "Was alcohol involved in your decision-making process?"

"It, uh, may have been."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "Mr. Longbottom. My niece is Alicia Spinnet. She told me about her time in the DA. About working with you. She holds you in the highest regard."

Everyone was related to someone, after all.

"We were so proud of her, of _all_ of you. The fact that our kids _knew_ what was right and stood up for it against all odds. Do you understand? It gave the rest of us hope. It let us believe we could triumph. It let us know we were on the right side, we were the ones who would never answer a Crucio in kind, we would never cast a killing curse except in self-defense, we would _never_ stoop to their level."

Neville wished he could sink through the floor.

"Do you understand? With the vast amount of power we could wield over muggle lives, the only way our society can function is if we all steadfastly believe in and maintain a social contract to only do what is _right_. It is the backbone of our whole society. And recent years have taught us exactly what happens if that contract is broken. Every part of our society must comply if we are to function as a whole. We cannot allow ourselves to use our power over muggles in any way, great or small. For better or worse, Mr. Goyle is essentially now a muggle. What you did to him is muggle-baiting."

"Oh, Merlin." Neville thought he could hardly feel more awful if he _had_ done all that to Goyle. He desperately wished he could have thought of a different cover story. "I didn't mean -"

"No, no, of course not," she said wearily. "And were you acting entirely alone?"

"Yes," he said, probably too quickly.

"Mr. Longbottom, I volunteered for the Reform and Release Program because I _believe_ in it. Yes, there are those who will properly never be able to rejoin society. But there are others, young people who made mistakes, influenced by friends and family. Who deeply regret those mistakes and need a second chance." She was looking at him keenly.

"Er, yes…" It wasn't exactly a comfortable thought to be lumped together with Goyle in her regard.

"And here you are, a role model. A leader. If this got out, do you think that any of the children who look up to you, or your fellow members of the DA, would think this sort of thing is acceptable? Would they follow your lead? Would they look for other parolees and have their fun? Aside from the position you've me in, you could put others in real danger."

"Oh," Neville said quietly.

"If I didn't believe in this program, I would report you in a heartbeat."

Neville looked up.

"Your unbelievably reckless and selfish actions have put a lot of people at risk, including myself. You are not a student anymore, Mr. Longbottom. You need to understand that your actions have a real effect on others."

"Yes, I… yes."

"This can never get out. Not for your sake; for all our sakes. For the whole of our society. You need to impress on anyone else who is involved _exactly_ what they've done."

"There isn't -"

"Yes, there is. And Mr. Goyle must arrive at his next parole check in a fortnight completely unharmed in _any_ way. Is that clear?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am."

"The parole check was without incident." She made a final check on her clipboard. "You will proceed immediately out the back and you will _never_ give me cause to regret this."

She was opening a door at the back of the room to a dim exit corridor.

"Never, ma'am."

Neville hurried out the back, head down.

Some time later, wand retrieved, he sat in a park, watching the pigeons strutting around as if nothing had happened. He was going to have to report this.


	5. Reports

* * *

Neville started up for the school. It _was_ the most likely place to find Bulstrode, and he didn't know where any of the rest lived. Still, he felt a twinge of the usual anxiety that came now with the view of the Hogwarts' turrets rising over the lake. He gave a chuckle to disperse the feeling. There was something utterly ridiculous about it. He'd never felt this way before, not even with the Carrows' brutal discipline looming over his head. No, it took unruly first-years who apparently all had some kind of death-wish to put that sort of fear in him. He only had to mention that some species needed to be approached with caution or had some toxic properties, and they all seemed drawn to it like a salamander to a flame, all his instructions and warnings in one ear and out the other.

He'd caught a couple of Ravenclaws trying to feed a classmate to the _Audriana seimourensis_. "Just wanted to see what would happen," they'd said. He still had no idea how they got past his protection wards. That was only his second week. He'd come very close to shouting, only just catching himself in time. They were children, and he didn't want to end up as someone's boggart. Professor Sprout sat him down later with a cup of tea (chamomile, for its calming properties) and assured him that the detention he'd assigned was quite appropriate.

"I expect it gets a bit better with the upper years," Neville said.

Sprout only managed to quell her laughter when she caught his horrified look. "No, dear, they just get more clever at hiding things from you. You'll need to be on the lookout, always. Your only mistake was letting your guard down and trusting the wards to do your job. You won't do that again now, will you?"

He wouldn't.

He was learning the ropes, slowly, along with the other new professors who'd come in on the 'grey wave' of retirements over the past few years. Trelawney was gone now, her retirement rumored to have been forced by McGonagall. Horace Slughorn was replaced in Potions and as Head of Slytherin by Professor Miriam Spindler, the former lead brewer in the St. Mungo's dispensary. Herbert Brazington, formerly of the Ministry Hidden Housing Division, had been leading Transfiguration and Gryffindor for the past several years since McGonagall was occupied with her duties as Headmistress. Sarah Fawcett had taken over History, a sort of bloodless coup. Apparently Bulstrode had simply rearranged the History courses to an unused classroom off the West Courtyard access corridor, and Binns never seemed to notice he was teaching an empty room. Professor Flitwick had begun speaking of his own retirement in a few years.

Neville supposed he was being groomed in a way as Professor Sprout's eventual replacement in herbology, though at this point he was only responsible for first-year lessons. That was more than enough to manage, especially as he had to learn to manage around Bulstrode at the same time.

Bulstrode was now the head of the administrative department since the retirement of the legendarily feared Madam Maloccio two years before. She ran the department with iron control and undeniable efficiency, but she made no pretense of fairness.

Neville committed a grave tactical error in his first week, just before the beginning of term. He went to her to have a change in his schedule approved. He wasn't sure why he had been given two lab sections in a row with no chance for lunch between them. He pushed his schedule change request form across her desk and said, "uh, hi, Bulstrode."

She grunted at him in return and studied the form.

Neville cleared his throat. He'd never had a real chance to speak alone with her, certainly not since her identity as an eye was made public. The last time he'd seen her, at the pub meeting shortly after Snape's survival had been revealed, she wouldn't say more than "piss off" to him.

She was studying his form. "Look, uh, Bulstrode… I wanted to thank you."

Her head swung up, her face studiously blank, as if etched in stone. Neville bore on, earnestly. "For, for all your service in the war. As, uh, an eye. And if you could let the rest of the eyes know…" He trailed off. Bulstrode's right hand curled into a fist. She placed her left palm against it, flat, and pressed. Her knuckles cracked.

"I'll thump you," she said, very deliberately.

Neville backed out of the office at once. He couldn't help remembering how quickly she'd attacked Hermione during the dueling club, and what it took to pull her off. And that had been in second year; she was a lot bigger now.

His schedule change form came back the next day, stamped, 'Denied.' As did all his reimbursement forms for the supplies he'd purchased for his lessons. As did his timesheet and signed payroll deposit form. As did everything of his that the administration department touched in any way, until Professor Sprout took pity on him. "I believe Miss Bulstrode enjoys cured meats and abject apologies," she said at their third week check-in.

The Spanish ham he sent along with an apology note promising never to bring up the subject of the eyes with her again seemed to do the trick. At least his payroll was finally approved.

Now, as he trudged up the hill to the school, he wondered if he should have sent another ham ahead. Bulstrode would not be pleased with his report.

Most of the school was abandoned for the hols, just a few staff to mind the forlorn building. And of course the administrative department with a mountain of end-of-term reports. Neville kicked the slush off his boots and set off down the circuitous corridors and stairs to the administrative offices. Bulstrode was there, but Neville hadn't expected to see Daphne Greengrass sitting in front of her desk, leaning back in a chair with her legs stretched out.

" _If_ they hear anything," Daphne was saying to Bulstrode.

The door clicked behind him. Daphne looked up. "Hi Longarse."

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" Bulstrode demanded.

"I, uh, what?"

"Nott told us," said Daphne.

"But I didn't -"

"He got it from Malfoy."

"Oh."

"He went to Malfoy," said Bulstrode, "to get material to use in a tracking charm. _You'd_ used it already."

"I… sorry." He really _should_ have sent the ham.

"So, did it come off?" Daphne looked like she was trying not to laugh.

"Uh, no, I got caught."

Daphne stopped trying and laughed. Bulstrode glared at her.

"Sit. Report. What was your cover story?"

Neville sat. "The officer had me transform back, so she saw who I was. I told her I played a stupid prank on Goyle, you know, in revenge for how he acted in the war. I slipped him some Dreamless Sleep, but it knocked him out longer than I thought. I regretted it, didn't want to screw up his whole life, so I was trying to cover it up."

"She believed you?"

"Yeah. She had a niece in the DA with me. She lectured me a bit, but then she covered for me and let me go."

"Does she think you were in it alone?"

"Well…"

Bulstrode glared again.

"I _told_ her I was alone. I don't think she believed me, but I'm sure she thinks it was other DA members. She didn't push me to name anyone."

"Right, so how much time do we have?"

"She said he'd better be at his next parole check in a fortnight."

Bulstrode settled back and studied him. "It's on you then."

"What?"

"When Goyle doesn't show up in a fortnight, it's you they'll be looking for. Fine. We're done."

"I -"

Daphne laughed.

"Go on, then. Got filing to do. Piss off, Longarse."

"But -"

"Piss. Off."

"Come on, Longarse," said Daphne, rising. "I'll buy you a drink."

* * *

"Tell me more about the backbone of our society."

Neville was glad that The Hog's Head wasn't very busy. He'd suggested The Three Broomsticks but Daphne vetoed that. Something about Madam Rosemerta not liking her.

"Come on, Daphne, is it really that funny?"

"Yes, oh course it is," she said, laughing. "Look, if you think about it, it was the perfect disguise. It was exactly the kind of plan Goyle would have come up with."

Neville sighed. "I'm glad _you_ find it funny."

"So am I. Really, you don't think it's funny at all?"

"Well, if it wasn't for the fact that I'll be the chief suspect if Goyle doesn't turn up."

" _No_ , you won't." She took a swig of her pint.

"But -"

"Look, Longarse, it's a game."

"What is?"

"Everything. Everything is a game. Your whole life."

"Oh, thanks."

" _Listen_. It's how you look at it. Everything that happens to you is either a roll of the dice or another player taking their turn. If it's a game, it gives you, like, the space to think about it. This happened, but now it's my move, how do I play with this? That way you don't get caught up with how bad something is, you can think that it's really handing you your next move. You can _enjoy_ it instead."

Neville studied her. He wasn't sure it was _him_ she was talking about now. He opened his mouth to speak, and stopped.

"What?"

He took a drink instead of answering. No, whatever it was, he was sure it wouldn't be kind to pry. "So, the way you look at it, I made a bad move."

"Not exactly. You made a move that put you in a vulnerable position. But the officer did too. She covered for you. That's got to be a sackable offense. Now she's just as vulnerable as you are. She can't out you without risking her job. You can use that."

"I wouldn't use that against her. Not after she stuck her neck out for me!"

Daphne sighed. "I'm not saying you have to blackmail her. All you need is for her to like you and her job more than she likes Goyle. It's not a very high bar."

Neville chuckled.

"See? _Now,_ it's funny. And I know you like games. At least you used to."

"What do you mean?"

"We saw you. Back in the war. We had to, we were watching you and the resistance. You were enjoying yourselves. It was a game to you, then."

"I mean, in a way. We were serious about it."

"But you were playing too, weren't you? So you know what I mean. Everything can be a game."

"What about you, the eyes? Were you playing?"

"Well, yes, of course. We had been for years."

"And enjoying yourselves?"

Daphne chuckled.

"Maybe I shouldn't be going on trying to pay you all back," said Neville. "You haven't brought it up."

"No, because you couldn't," said Daphne.

"What?"

"You couldn't pay me back."

"Well, I could _try_."

She shook her head at him, smiling.

"Why not?"

She took a drink, then took a long considering look at him. "Ok. So, did you ever notice? The Carrows or whoever weren't where you thought they'd be? You were sure that some place was being watched, or someone patrolling, and there was just no one there?"

"Well, yeah, we assumed they got distracted and left their post."

"You're welcome."

Neville looked at her, not quite sure that he got it.

"I can be _very_ distracting."

He got it. He felt like the bottom had dropped out of the conversation. Ron had said that Slytherins would turn on you, though he probably hadn't meant flipping a conversation on its head.

"Don't look like that!" laughed Daphne. "It really isn't so tragic. I found out a long time ago that I don't need to particularly fancy someone to enjoy myself."

Neville didn't particularly want to think about that. "He… I mean, you weren't ordered to do that, were you?"

"What, by Snape? Oh, Merlin, _no,_ can you imagine that conversation? No, he's _far_ too repressed. I came up with it on my own. It was a very good way to keep people out of the way and get information at the same time. No one made me do anything."

"But I thought Snape directed all of you."

"Well, he told us generally what we needed to accomplish. There had to be a bit of deniability. It was better if Bulstrode was our point of contact most of the time."

"But, he knew?"

"Oh, yes. I did report to him sometimes. I mean, the information I got. I didn't give him a blow-by-blow." She paused. "So to speak."

Neville discovered another thing he didn't want to imagine.

"Why are you telling me this?"

She shrugged. "Why not? My family's not like Nott's. I don't have anyone in Azkaban who'd get knifed or something if I got outed as an eye."

"But, well, Zabini knows, right?"

"Sure, some people in the House know or could guess, but no one talks about it. It's really not done, bringing up people's loyalties. It's kind of rude. But if it did get out, I don't see it touching my job or anything. And anyway I think _you'd_ curl up and die of embarrassment if you ever tried to tell anyone. It's as good as a tongue-tying curse, really."

"What is your job?" Neville was happy to jump on a possible change in topic.

"I work for Gringott's. Document and artifact verification. They don't care whose side anyone was on. I'm learning Gobbledegook. And they _really_ like that I'm trained in Legilimency. The goblins can't do it themselves; it doesn't work much with non-humans. And I like all the bank holidays."

"You're trained in Legilimency?"

"Yeah, he trained most of us eyes. Well, except Bulstrode."

"No?"

"Like I said, it doesn't work so well with non-humans."

"Uh."

"What, didn't you know? Part-troll. Malfoy found her family tree in Worblethorpe's Compendium of Notable Wizards our first year and tried to spread it around."

"Tried?"

"She broke his nose. Bled everywhere. Snape made _him_ clean it up."

Neville laughed.

"It's just the House rule. If it's your blood, it's your mess. Anyway, Bulstrode's got teeth for _days_. She can bite through bone! She showed me once, it's brilliant."

Yes, there it was, another thing Neville didn't want to imagine.

Daphne gave him a sly glance. "Speaking of absolutely one-hundred percent humans, how did you like being Goyle?"

Neville groaned. "Oof. But I don't know how much of that was the Polyjuice. I've never had it before."

"What, _never?"_

"No, I never needed -"

"I'm not talking about _needed_. You weren't even curious?"

"Um, I'm not sure what you mean."

"No? Tiresias game? Never?"

"Uh…"

Daphne gave him a very pitying look, took a long drink of her pint, and leaned in conspiratorially. "Tiresias. Ancient Greek. Seer or something. The story is, he's walking along and he sees a couple of snakes. _Shagging_. So this tosser hits them with a stick. Which, I mean, _rude._ Who does that? You _don't_ do that."

Neville shook his head at her, bemused.

"Some goddess sees this and thinks, this tosser needs to learn some manners and common sense. Clearly, the best way to do that? Turn him into a woman."

"Ok," said Neville. He knew better than to argue that one.

"So, she settles down for the next seven years, gets married, has a few kids, becomes a priestess…"

"As you do," said Neville.

"And one day she's walking along, and sees a couple of snakes. Shagging. But now she has some manners and doesn't go hitting them with sticks."

"Not a very high bar," said Neville.

"Right? But good enough for goddesses, so she turns him back. He becomes a great seer and forgets all his manners again. Some gods go to him to ask who has more fun in the sack, men or women. He says women, definitely. So, now we have the Tiresias game. All you need is a nice private room, a very special friend, and a couple of vials of Polyjuice."

"Yeah, I think I got it."

"Do you?" She studied him. "I can see why Lovegood broke up with you."

" _What?"_ Maybe Ron was right.

"Nothing personal," Daphne said casually. "She's really into experimentation right now, and if you're not…"

"How, uh, how do you even know this?"

"I like to keep my hand in, information-wise. Who's with who. She had a little thing for a while with Bulstrode."

"Wait, _what?_ "

"Like I said, experimentation. Magical creatures and such. It didn't last though, she's just curious. So I wouldn't take it personally. It'll probably be a few years before she settles down."

Somehow, Neville didn't find the idea of Luna dumping him for Bulstrode comforting. Or was it the other way around? Was that why Bulstrode didn't seem to like him?

Daphne saw his look. "Oh, come on. Everyone's mooning about nowadays. You're as bad as Theo. It _wouldn't_ have worked."

"Hmm."

"Oh, you think it would? True love and marriage and all? You _know_ she wouldn't change her name."

"What? I don't care about -"

"And you wouldn't either, heroic parents and all. And hyphenating would be a bloody mess. And then she'd suggest combining, you _know_ she would, and you'd go along like a fool. And ten years later, there you are, Professor Lovebottom, wondering where it all went wrong."

Neville laughed. "Longgood isn't so bad."

"Only if it's true. _Is it?"_

"Uh…"

"Well, if you say so. And why would you want to settle down anyway?"

"It just, it seems like sometimes everyone is so… so on track. At least in my group. And I thought I was too, but well, there was the breakup. And teaching. It's… not how I imagined. I thought it would feel like working together with the students to a common goal, but it's more like they're always pushing against me. I can never get to anything interesting because I spend all my time just trying to have them follow even the most basic rules."

Daphne laughed. "Did you even _go_ to Hogwarts?"

"It really didn't seem like that to me as a student. Maybe I should go into something else. I just really don't like to give up, you know?"

"Hmm."

"I mean, none of my friends are having second thoughts, or need to change track."

"That you know of," said Daphne. "Or do you really think that lot has perfect lives?'

"Well, what about your friends then? Everyone on track?" Neville regretted the question as soon as it was out, but Daphne laughed again.

"Are you trying to pump me, to find out who the eyes are?" she said lightly.

"I was just -"

"It's all right if you were, but you don't even know what Houses or years we were, so don't go thinking you'll get anywhere."

"I was just thinking of the Slytherins, actually."

"You _are_ a nosy one, aren't you?" she said with a smile. Neville thought that was the end of it, but she went on obligingly. "The boys from our year, they're a bit tragic. Zabini's all right, as far as I see him, he's too busy with his club to do anything much. The girls, we're split up a bit now. I still see Bulstrode, of course. Tracey's off getting her bardic training in Helsinki, and Finnish is kicking her arse, so I haven't heard from her in ages. Used to spend more time with Pansy, but now she's got a baby and she's hardly any fun at all."

" _What?"_

" _Yes._ She met some Danish fellow at one of her mum's parties, miles tall, and she went after him. They got married and had a kid straight away. Three months old now, and de _-sgustingly_ adorable. He has her little nose. But now she's gone a bit boring, you know? It's all baby talk. Hopefully she'll come round in a few years."

"Merlin, that's… fast." Neville felt strangely grateful that none of his friends had kids yet.

"Anyway, some of the '99 and 2000 grads from the House have ended up a few doors down in the alley, so I see more of them. Game nights, or going out to Helix. So that's all right."

"You're in Diagon?"

"No, love, _the_ alley, Knockturn. Have you been? You should come over."

"Uh, I'm not sure I'd be welcome."

"To a game night you would. We need someone to thrash."

"What sort of games?" Neville asked carefully. He couldn't help thinking about Tiresias.

She raised her eyebrows at him and tipped up the last of her drink. She slipped her hand into her robes and drew out a small white card. She pushed it across to him with her index finger.

"Protean note," she said. "If you ever want to play a game, write me."


	6. Dead Ends

The three of them stared glumly at their pints. _What a picture we make,_ Neville thought, _the sorriest 'private party' to ever grace the back room of the Leaky Cauldron_. He had just told them about the parole check.

"A total cock-up," Ron said.

"We should have known about the potions check. Did they just start that?" said Harry.

"Must have," said Ron.

"Look, it's done. It's not anyone's fault. I could have guessed there would be a test for potions too," said Neville.

"Yeah, but we're the ones with the training, mate," said Ron. "What now? I mean, unless we track down the officer and -"

"No, no," said Neville quickly. "Look, sure, Bulstrode told me to piss off and take the blame, but one of the other eyes said it wouldn't be a problem. The officer can't bring it up without putting her own job at risk. Anyway, she made it clear she wasn't going to. She's sort of part of this now."

"So, just walk away then? And you think that's what the eyes are doing? Neville, they're setting you up. They could be trying to pin this all on you!"

"I swear, Ron, you're getting paranoid," said Harry.

"Well, what would stop them?"

"Whatever stopped them from joining Voldemort?" suggested Harry.

"Ginny's been getting to you."

"Maybe, but maybe she's right."

"Ron, I don't think they're trying to pin anything on me, not really. It's more like they're just shutting me out. I am the outsider to them. They're a pretty closed group."

"So, they're still looking?" said Harry.

"That's what I don't know. The one I spoke to is… good at changing the subject."

"So, trust them and then have you take the blame? I don't like it, Neville," said Ron.

"Actually, I was thinking about calling someone else in."

"We'll help you any way we can," Ron. Harry was nodding. "Outside of duty hours and -"

"No! I mean… look, you can't get involved. Uh, any further. I was thinking about that when I was caught out by the parole officer. It would be so much worse for you than me if we got caught. Hermione too - you two would be stripped of rank -"

"Oh, come on."

" _Yes_ , you really could, and Hermione could be disbarred. No, I don't want that hanging over me."

"But we -"

"No, it's not up to you, Harry. Both of you, you have to stay out." He had been wondering if it had been a mistake to go to Harry in the first place. But then again, he still didn't know what else he could have done to delay the parole check.

"Well, then who?"

"All right, I'm talking about Snape."

There was a very heavy pause.

"You've gone mental, mate," said Ron.

"No, listen. Harry, you remember. When we talked to him after the Malfoy hearing."

"Yeah, I remember," said Harry tightly. "I remember him saying exactly nothing to show that he would ever be helpful to us in any way."

"But it's not _us._ Remember what he said when you told him that Dumbledore's plan worked?"

Harry gave a short shrug and looked away.

"What?" said Ron.

"He said that there were many people they didn't work for. That there were people dead or in prison or with ruined lives because of the role that _he_ had to play."

"He said that?" said Ron.

"Yeah. And in prison with a ruined life? That's Goyle," said Neville.

"You think he'd step in to help Goyle?" said Ron.

"I think he _might_ , if he really does feel responsible for him going bad."

"Look, Neville, that's fine. But how would you even ask him? I mean, talk about _classified._ They say nobody knows where he is except the Minister."

"And, er, Bulstrode," said Harry. They both looked at him. "What? It's true. Letters go through her."

"Even if they do," said Ron skeptically, "didn't Bulstrode tell you to piss off?"

"Not Bulstrode. I, well, I have an idea that I might be able to contact him."

"Come on, Neville, you're not buying that rubbish the Quibbler prints about him living in tunnels under Hogwarts as a goat animagus."

" _No!"_

Harry was looking at Neville very intently. "What are you saying?"

"It's just a guess. Remember when I had the internship as a research assistant at that lab in Brazil last year?"

"Your jungle adventure," laughed Ron.

"Well, the head of the research assistants was this Yank, Grossman, just an incredibly friendly guy, really nice to everyone. But he was very strict about one rule - no herbology assistants in the potions research lab, ever. Which was strange, because generally everyone went everywhere, RAs were always nicking supplies from other labs. And the alchemy and magical creatures sections had genuinely dangerous stuff in them, so I don't think it was a safety measure. One of the other herbology RAs said it was a brand-new rule, it had never been an issue before. Except that the head potions researcher would yell at you if you tried to nick his supplies."

"Look, Neville," said Ron wearily, "you're as bad as Harry. It's probably just some researcher who was tired of having his supplies nicked."

"That's what I thought at first. But then I overheard Grossman. He was always joking around with the RAs, and once I walked into the break room when he was messing with some of the potions assistants. He was imitating someone's voice. I mean, he didn't have the accent exactly right, but I think I recognized it."

"What did he say?"

" _I don't need a fucking calming draught."_

Harry and Ron looked at each other. "He said it _just_ like that? That voice?" said Ron.

" _Exactly_ like that."

"Yeah, I reckon that's him," said Ron.

Harry's expression was getting ugly. "You _knew_ where he was, for over a year, and you didn't tell me."

"First of all, Harry, it was just a guess, I didn't _know_ anything. But mostly it was that I don't think he's actually there anymore. The other RAs said that the head of Potions research works remotely. The main thing is if he does still work for them remotely, they can get him a message."

"You should have told me."

"What would you have done?" asked Neville.

"Talk to him, just talk to him."

"We already did that," said Neville.

"Yeah, but… we didn't really get anywhere."

"And you would now?"

"I would try. He has had a couple more years to, uh, get over things. Look, all that stuff he said about the prophecy being rubbish, I need to - Well, it worked, right? It proves that it was true after all!"

Neville sighed. "Harry, I don't see how we could ever really know. I mean, he _is_ right that you and Voldemort were both alive at the same time for a couple of years. In his view that means it's false. In your view, it's true. Is there anything else to say?"

"And it worked, right? So, it _has_ to be true."

"Ok," said Neville, carefully. He had the feeling that Harry had more riding on this conversation than he did.

"Right," Harry went on. "I just need to talk it out with him. It worked. So there was a reason for, well, everything. It _had_ to come out like that, it meant something, how I grew up, everything that happened in the war. It meant something when my parents -"

"Yeah, of course it did," said Ron quickly. "We know, Harry. It meant a lot. Nobody's saying it didn't."

Harry didn't answer.

"All right?" said Neville. It must be awful, he thought. It was bad enough what happened with his own parents, petty, pointless and cruel as it was. It had to be just as bad to have a prophecy dictating all the horrible things that happened to you. Or was it easier, thinking that it _had_ to be that way?

Harry nodded finally.

Ron took a breath and turned to Neville. "Ok, Neville, if you do manage to get a message to him, what then? Just wait?"

"Well, I would tell them it was urgent, and… I guess I don't know. Maybe I'm grasping at straws. But my gran always says, if you grasp at enough straws, you'll have the makings of a broom. I don't just want to leave it up to the eyes. I want to try everything I can."

"Don't get your hopes up," said Ron.

* * *

Buying the Portkey took most of his November wages. At least all his papers were still in order from his last visit to the lab. Back in his room he stripped off some layers of clothing - it was summer in Brazil. It was still a shock when the Portkey deposited him in the glaring sun of Manaus. A few apparitions later and he was on the grounds of the Magical division of the Universidade do Amazonas. There wasn't any trouble slipping past the busy receptionist at the lab entry, but then he stood round the corner wondering where to go next.

He should probably find Grossman. He knew Grossman, he could talk to him, convince him to pass along the message. He tried the break room first, empty. He headed down the hall trying doors. Storeroom, nothing. Potions lab was next, forbidden. Which was ridiculous. And he wasn't an RA anymore, so it wasn't like the rules even applied to him. He took a breath and opened the door.

Benjamin Grossman was sitting at one of the lab tables in the otherwise empty room with a cup of coffee and several large binders spread out across the table in front of him. He ran his finger down a page and called out, "eight-hundred forty-three grams."

"Lophophoria williamsii?" a very familiar voice called from an adjoining inner room. It was a bit muffled, but there was absolutely no question whose voice it was. And what did Snape want with peyote?

Grossman riffled pages in a binder. "We're out," he called.

Neville came nearer and Grossman looked up. "Oh, hi Neville, I didn't know - " he cut off abruptly.

"We'll need at least seven-hundred," came the distant voice.

Grossman's eyes shifted slightly to the side and back. He said, very loud and clear, "Neville Longbottom! I didn't know you were in the country."

There was a weighty sort of listening silence from the next room.

"Hey," said Grossman loudly, "I was about to take a break. Let's get a cup of coffee and catch up."

"Hi, Benji. I need to talk to him."

"I haven't seen you in what, a year and a half? Look, let's go to the break room -"

"I wouldn't bother him if it wasn't important, really."

"We can go next door and get some coffee and you can tell me all about it."

"Uh, you already have coffee and I just need to talk to him."

"Neville, sorry, but you really can't be in here, so -"

"I know the rule and I understand, but I seriously need -"

The door to the next room, which had been standing ajar, swung open against the wall with a crack. Snape stood in the doorway looking not at all pleased, but at least his glare was aimed at Benji.

"Grossman. Get him out."

Grossman sighed.

"Look, sir," Neville began, "I just need -"

" _Grossman."_

"Yeah, so, do you want me to pick him up and throw him?" Benji took a sip of his coffee. "Or I could, like, chop him into little pieces and mail him home in a matchbox."

"I don't care what method you employ, so long as it's _effective_."

Grossman turned to Neville. "Look, Neville, he really doesn't want to talk to you. Don't be a jerk, ok?"

"Sir, Goyle's gone missing."

There was a moment of silence.

"Grossman. Get out."

Benji sighed. "I'll be next door if you need me."

It sounded like he was directing that at Snape. Neville hoped that it extended to himself as well. Snape was giving him a particularly venomous glare as he curtly gestured at the door to his inner office.

Neville forced himself to remember it was different now, No need to think of horrible school days. It helped that Snape looked different as well, dressed in lab whites and his hair cropped short and dyed brown.

The office was awash in parchment. Several long rolls, held together at angles by tape, were covered by a single sprawling potion brew diagram. It spilled off the desk and was tacked to the wall at the far end.

Snape shut the door sharply. "Who told you?"

There wasn't any place to sit but the chair behind the desk and Neville knew far better than to touch Snape's chair. He stood, trying not to disturb any part of the parchment.

"No one, really sir."

" _No one?"_

"I, uh, guessed."

Snape regarded him silently.

"I overheard someone saying something once, and I thought they might be able to get a message to you…"

"You heard _who_ saying _what?_ "

Neville really didn't want to get Grossman in trouble, but he could tell that Snape would not let this go, and he would probably imagine something worse than it was.

"Grossman. He didn't say anything about you, sir. I just overheard him, well… imitating your voice."

Snape's glare was now being directed towards the break room. Neville thought he'd better change the subject.

"Sir, Goyle's gone missing. The eyes are looking for him, and I'm helping, well, trying to help."

It worked. At least Snape was glaring in his direction rather than Grossman's. Neville went on quickly. "He was staying at Nott's after his release, and he went missing a few days ago. The flat was cleared out, probably by magic, so they don't think he went off on his own."

Snape was looking at him curiously now.

"And they sent _you_ to tell _me?"_

"Uh, no."

Snape glared at him.

"They, well, they told me to piss off."

"So, you came here to spite them."

"No! I thought you should know."

"Oh, did you? Well, now I know."

There was a very uncomfortable pause.

"Uh, sir…"

"Don't lie to me."

"Right." Neville took a breath. "I suppose I was hoping you could do something."

"Because of your deep concern for Mr. Goyle's well-being."

"Because…" Neville stopped. He wasn't sure if he was digging himself a deeper hole or a path to get out. "Sir, I don't hate him. Not anymore. I wouldn't be happy if he turned up, well, dead. But I'm not doing this for _him._ Nott brought me in, and I owe him. All of you."

"You're doing this for the eyes."

"Yes," said Neville in relief.

"Who told you to piss off."

"Uh, yes."

"And you were hoping I would do _what_ , exactly?"

"Well, _something_ ," said Neville. It sounded weak, and he knew it.

" _Mr. Longbottom._ _You_ have connections with the Auror department. The eyes will have connections with the Dark Market. There are some things that are _permanently_ off-limits to me now. The Dark Market is one of them."

"Yes, sir." The 'Mr. Longbottom' sent him straight back to horrible school days.

"There is nothing I can do that the rest of you can't."

"Yes, sir."

"If you are going to help them, then bloody do it. If you are going to piss off, then bloody piss off. If you are going to fuck around sitting on the fence, spreading the news, trying to get others to do your work for you, you'll get in everyone's way."

Neville sighed. He was probably right.

"And if you _ever_ tell anyone where you think I am," Snape smiled, "you _will_ regret it."

Neville thought it was probably time to leave, and never mention that he had already told Harry.

* * *

Theo sat at his kitchen table, a few sheets of parchment in front of him, columns of words scrawled across one. With the place to himself, he could hear the scratch of every wrong word.

He could bring his granddad's record player back out, he thought, let the music clear his mind, clear everything. Or would that be an admission of defeat? That Goyle was as good as lost. Had been for years.

Theo looked at the lonely sentence across the top of the parchment.

_Dad, I admit I've been having second thoughts._

Fine, as far as it went. But now he had to put the code in. And it was probably all a mistake. He was at a point where he wasn't sure it mattered; there wasn't any other lead he could think of, no one else who'd had any contact with Goyle. The words _dead end_ had been floating through his head all day, they sounded worse and worse each time he thought of them.

Not that this would work either. The real issue was that he was trying to ask his father for, well, help. Five years ago, in a Ministry visiting room, his dad let Theo know that he knew about his loyalties. His last words then, "I'm done with you," didn't leave much room for a spirit of cooperation now.

He looked at his scratch page. The sentence at the top read _'G Gone. Need to locate. Does BC know.'_

Too long. He crossed out 'locate' and wrote in 'find.'

And even if his dad was moved to help, for Crabbe or Goyle's sake, how long could they keep this code up without getting caught? And why were Gs so hard? He looked at his first column of words. Again, against, ignore, aggression, aggravate, agave, egg, ogre, ugly.

_I'm egged on, again, by not wanting any more regrets. I only have few family members, and I'd rather attempt to hold one, if possible. Mind, I'm angry that I'd been admonished by you, on merely your assumptions. And about my accomplishments. And, okay, I'm angry about your own awful actions._

He started a new paragraph to separate from the coded part of the letter.

_But if you can at least answer me, maybe we can preserve the relationship._

_Theo_

He looked at the finished letter critically. A bit awkward, yes, but not necessarily suspicious. Would it get him on some Ministry list? He was probably already on most of them. He folded the letter. He'd take it to the owl office in the morning. Not that it mattered. It was definitely a dead end.


	7. The Worst Old Families

Malfoy's door was decorated with a Yule wreath. One of the old-fashioned ones, holly, with a dead crowned wren hanging upside down by one leg in the center. Most people now only celebrated Christmas, rather than Yule, but if they did, they usually just put up a brass ornament instead. Gran said it was only the 'worst old families' that would still send their owl out to kill a real one. Neville supposed that the Malfoys definitely qualified.

Of course Gran loved singing the Wren Song and burning a wren candle on Yule Eve herself. Neville remembered that when he was a kid the crown was always made of gilded pine needles that crackled and hissed and sparked when the flame reached them. Nowadays the crowns were only foil that would break up and float down the melted wax in bits. To make up for it, Gran insisted on a flaming pudding. And spells on the hearth so the fire changed colors. And Yule oranges so they could squeeze the peels in the flames. And a flaming brandy drink. Come to think of it, Gran might be a bit of a firebug.

Neville knocked. The dead wren bobbed on its string. It was all probably a mistake. Still, Snape was absolutely right to say he needed to either help or piss off. He didn't want to piss off, but at the moment, the eyes were not letting him back in. Bulstrode certainly wasn't going to give him any direction. Then again, both Malfoy and Bulstrode _had_ mentioned a tracker, that was _something_. Not that he knew how to make a tracker, but if he had the materials, he was sure Hermione could give him a hand.

No answer.

After the brandy, he and Gran had their tradition of Yule Eve ghost stories. Followed by the tradition of the ghost of Great-grand-aunt Edna Sitwell-Longbottom shouting at Gran that the stories weren't hers to tell. And Gran shouting back that she ought to go haunt a Tesco's for all the good she was at it. Then after another brandy, Gran would get a bit maudlin and promise Neville that she would haunt him _properly_ when she was gone, not like _some_ , and Neville would pat her back and say he was utterly knackered and perhaps it was time to turn in. Yule wasn't very far off, now.

He knocked again, trying for the official rap Harry had used. He could hear steps somewhere inside. The view hole clicked open and closed. There was a distinct pause. The door opened.

"Longbottom," said Malfoy. He peered around him. "Where's Potter?"

"He's not with me. I'm here on my own." Harry had sent him an owl the day before, 'Any reply?' Neville still hadn't answered. He had no idea how to answer without lying, but he knew he could _not_ tell Harry that he had seen Snape in person. No, for the moment at least, he had to proceed alone.

Malfoy looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"It's my, uh, thing."

"You don't have a thing, Longbottom."

"I do."

"Fine, you have a thing. For Merlin's sake don't bring it out on the stoop." He stepped back to let Neville enter.

In the sitting room the Malfoy owl swayed on its perch. One talon was tucked under its feathers and a bit of down clinging to its beak. Perhaps another Yule wren.

"Right, Longbottom, what's your thing?" Malfoy took what was clearly the best armchair. Neville perched on the settee.

"It's still the Goyle thing."

Malfoy sighed. "We've been over that."

"Yes, I know. But Harry was here, and I thought, well, you might not have been able to speak freely."

"And I would to you?"

"Well…"

" _Why_ , Longbottom?"

"You _did_ let us in, before."

"When an Auror comes knocking on your door at night -"

"No, I mean before that. A couple of years ago at your dad's hearing. When you let us in to talk to Snape."

Malfoy huffed with something approaching a genuine smile. "That wasn't about _you_ , Longbottom. Either of you."

"Don't try to tell me you would have let anyone in that room."

"All right," Malfoy waved his hand in agreement. "It was about Snape. He had been acting like a right cunt to me for days. And then you two turned up at the perfect moment." He smirked in satisfaction at the memory. "I was getting my own back."

"You let us in to talk to Snape… in revenge?"

"Yes, and it worked too. He as good as apologized. Oh, you missed it, did you?" He looked even more pleased, if that were possible.

"Well, yes, he admitted some things, but then he just swore at us and said he wasn't our professor anymore."

Malfoy sighed. "I thought it was common knowledge, but maybe it's just in the House. The swearing? When he first started teaching at Hogwarts he used to curse everyone out. Make little firsties cry calling them lazy bastards or bleeding morons -"

Neville coughed. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. My father confirms it. He's always been _vile_. In any case they would whinge to mummy and daddy and then mummy and daddy would send howlers to the Headmaster demanding something be done. And the Headmaster would talk to Snape, but of course he wouldn't stop and they couldn't sack him. We always thought he had some sort of dirt on the Headmaster, that he never got sacked. I suppose now we know the old sod had _plans_ for him. In any case, they finally put a binding clause in his contract that would automatically dock his pay any time he swore at a student, parent, or staff member."

Neville must have looked incredulous. Malfoy went on, "You didn't really think 'dunderhead' was the word he was looking for, did you?"

"Ah, no, I suppose not." Neville wasn't sure he could believe this story any more than Snape being interrogated by his father.

"Right. So in the House, it's sort of a rite of passage. The first time he calls you a little shit, or a conniving bint, it's a compliment. He would take a pay cut for you. The mark of an equal."

Dead wrens and mind games and insults. Luna probably would have said they all needed that muggle brain therapy she'd told him about.

"So, when he said he could 'fucking swear at us now, he wasn't our bloody professor any more -'"

Malfoy laughed. "Exactly. In any case, he wasn't as much of a cunt to me after that."

"You're in contact with him?"

"You heard the conditions of the Reform and Release Program. No contact between marked individuals. Did you forget he qualifies?"

Maybe he had.

"Well, it goes for Goyle too. I haven't had any contact with him, whether you bring Potter along as your enforcer or not."

"He's not my _enforcer._ "

"No? Your protector then?"

"I don't need a protector from you. Not back when you had to try to kill us, and not now."

Malfoy looked away. "Thanks for the 'had too,' I suppose," he said reluctantly.

"Look, I'm not trying to catch you out in some lie. I wanted to see if there was any chance that you've something else of Goyle's for a tracker."

"No, there really isn't. If you're working with Theo, you _need_ to get on the same page."

"He's - they're still looking?"

Malfoy looked at him curiously. "They said they're not?"

"Well, after the Polyjuice thing, they told me to piss off."

"I have _nothing_ to do with this," said Malfoy, "you need to keep me out of this." It was more desperation than threat in his voice.

"No worries," said Neville. But that wasn't how either of them felt when Malfoy shut the door behind him.

* * *

The knock came at three in the afternoon. Theo looked up sharply. There was no mistaking the official note - Aurors. He closed his eyes. At least it was afternoon, business hours. That meant a 'routine inquiry.' When the knock came at two in the morning, that's when you wouldn't be seeing home for the foreseeable future.

The knock came again. Theo stood. The flat was clean, there was nothing he needed to hide. Dodger had been very clear on that point when they first went into business together. Goyle would be 'at work, as far as I know,' if they asked him. There was no use delaying and having his wards destroyed and his door spelled open.

He checked the viewhole. Two DMLE robes. One was a familiar face: one of the Aurors who had been taking statements from the eyes at the end of the war. Not that a familiar face was unwelcome, but Theo didn't exactly fancy being someone's speciality. He opened the door.

"Mr. Nott. Aurors Proudfoot and Savage. I'm hoping you can assist us by answering a few questions. Just a routine inquiry."

Still hoping for the best, Theo stepped back and opened the door wider.

"Ah, actually," said the one who indicated himself as Proudfoot, "you'll be accompanying us to the DMLE."

He did. They took him in the back way, as Theo tried to play scenarios in his head. What was serious enough to be brought in the back way, but not serious enough for an arrest? He desperately hoped he would not be pulled into a questioning room with Dodger. Or, dear lord, be asked to identify Goyle's body. It _couldn't_ be that, could it? But it was a single empty questioning room that he was led to, and a rather long wait with Auror Proudfoot sitting silently by the door.

The wait didn't exactly help his nerves. Nor did the entrance of Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, holding a sheaf of papers in one hand.

"Mr. Nott," he said, taking the seat across from him.

Theo wiped his palms on his trousers under the table. "Sir."

Shacklebolt didn't bother with any preliminaries. "So, you're putting up Mr. Goyle. An interesting decision."

"Bulstrode arranged it." It shouldn't be a surprise to Shacklebolt, he was well-aware she was the one in charge of the eyes.

"And how is it, living with Mr. Goyle?"

Shacklebolt hadn't touched the sheaf of papers, which made Theo apprehensive. What exactly was he fishing for?

"Well, it's not brilliant." Theo had tried to lie to Snape once, back when he was a first-year. "If you want to try to lie, Mr. Nott," he'd said with deep contempt, "you will have to learn how to tell the truth."

"It's… well, I know where he came from, and how he got where he is now, but neither of us is about to forget we weren't on the same side."

"Any incidents?"

"Nothing much."

Shacklebolt raised his eyebrows at him.

"Uh, well, he got mad at me and broke a couple of my things. Just - just stupid kids stuff."

"Should the Ministry be concerned about the placement?"

"No! I mean, it really isn't anything. We're just better off not getting in each other's way. And that's what we're doing. I don't see much of him; he usually works double-shifts to save up money."

"What's he saving for?"

"To get a place of his own if he can get Ministry clearance for it. It'll probably be a while though. I don't think he really understands London rents and utilities."

"And what about you, Mr. Nott?"

Theo had the uncomfortable impression of a cat about to pounce. "Sir?"

"London rents and utilities. I don't have any current employment listed in your file."

"I've had a few odd -"

Shacklebolt was raising his eyebrows at him again.

"I think it will be easier to get something regular in a year or two. Let the, uh, family name fade a bit first."

"Certainly. But my question is about your current situation. How are you supporting yourself?"

So that was it? Did he have something on Dodger? "My grandad left me a trust fund. I've been living on that, mostly."

Shacklebolt frowned. "Come now, Mr. Nott. We do have access to your Gringotts' holdings."

"Oh, not in Gringotts, sir. My grandad only used muggle banks and money. He didn't want my dad getting his hands on it."

Shacklebolt gave a slow nod. "You're living off this fund."

"Yeah. I mean, that's not my plan forever, but it pays the rent. I can get job training and get something regular in a few years."

"You are in a stable situation? Not desperate for funds?" Shacklebolt was looking at him closely. _What was he getting at?_

"Uh, no, sir."

Shacklebolt was looking at him closely. "Mr. Nott. Mr Goyle moved in with you a bit over a month and a half ago. A little over a fortnight ago, you wrote a letter to your father. The only contact you've had in five years. Did Mr. Goyle put you up to that?"

"No! I mean…"

"Mr. Nott, considering how insidiously Voledmort's influence spread through our society, we have to vigilant about Death Eaters spreading their influence."

"He didn't put me up to it like _that_ ; it's not like that."

"What, _exactly_ , it is like?"

 _Learn how to tell the truth._ "It's… Goyle. He was just - he was talking about his dad, and Vince. He's still pretty messed up about that. He really doesn't have anyone, any close family. Right. He made me feel… guilty. I mean, Goyle found out about his dad from the paper, he never got to say anything. It doesn't make any sense. I don't even _like_ my dad, can't stand him. I guess I felt like I'd regret it if I didn't say _something_."

"The impulse is understandable, Mr. Nott." Shacklebolt was opening the sheaf of papers now, and pulling out three pages. He set them one-by-one on the table in front of Theo. "But when we look at the letters themselves - "

Theo looked at the letters. Three of them. Three. It didn't make sense.

"- It doesn't make sense," Shacklebolt continued.

"No," said Theo abstractedly. He tried not to stare at the middle letter. It was longer than the others.

"Mr. Nott."

"Ah."

"They were flagged for me as suspicious."

Theo leaned forward slightly. He needed to get a better look.

"The first one, not in and of itself. But your next two, coming in on each other's heels and with their completely different content and tone." Shacklebolt pushed those two letters to Theo.

The third was the one he'd just written to ask his dad about Goyle. The second was on a slightly nicer sort of parchment than he usually used, cream-colored and smooth. He'd splurged on something like it back in his fourth year when he tried writing some ill-advised love letters to Mandy Brocklehurst. The letters had come back with scathing corrections on his prose. That's what he got for having crushes on Ravenclaws.

Aside from the parchment, it was definitely his own handwriting. It began:

_Dear Dad,_

_I want to clear the air going forth._

So, it had the code. How was that possible? Any of it?

"Mr. Nott."

"I… I know. You're right, sir."

"Right?"

"It doesn't make any sense." He _had_ to read it. What did the code say? He tried to glance down the paragraphs, skimming. Something friendly, too friendly, about family, about amends. "I can't explain it."

" _Try_ , Mr. Nott."

 _Learn how to tell the truth_. "Right," he said. "I never really got on with him. Not even before the war, before I knew what he was part of. But I have a couple of good memories from when I was really little. I guess it's hard to let go of it. The idea of, of the father I _might_ have had. The one I _wanted_ to have. And even after all these years of evidence that he's not, he's never going to be like that, part of me… it's stupid. Maybe this time. Maybe if I write like I'm writing to that idea of, of the father he could have been, maybe he'll answer that way, for once. It's bloody idiotic. I know he won't. Or can't. It doesn't really matter which. I ought to give up, I know I'd be happier if I did, but…" he trailed off.

"You wrote the third letter very quickly after the second."

"I knew it was idiotic. I was already having second thoughts."

Shacklebolt looked at him impassively, then slid the letters into a stack and back into the folder.

"I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Nott. You may wish to remind Mr. Goyle that he will need to get Ministry approval before any change in employment or residence." Shacklebolt was rising.

"Sir, uh, did he get the letters? I mean before they were brought to you."

"The first and second yes. The third was when they were flagged for me. Why do you ask?" He was watching Theo keenly.

"I'm just not really sure I wanted him to see that second letter. Sir, if uh, you could not say anything about this to my family? My mum already worries about me being a bad influence on my stepbrother. If she knew I wrote to dad..."

"At this time, I see no need to mention it."

Shacklebolt was showing him the door. Theo could hear Auror Proudfoot faintly behind it as it closed. "Do you think we qualify as family counselors yet?"

_Fine, that would be fine, just a matter of sordid family drama, nothing suspicious in that._

Auror Savage escorted him out of the department.

Theo _had_ to decipher that second letter.

* * *

One of the Protean notes moved. Snape pressed his hand against his pocket. The note inside was still twitching, a long message. Dick, the lab director, was supposed to be updating him on the progress of their pending testing applications. He fumbled for something to keep his voluminous potion diagram from sliding off the desktop, shoving a teacup and a jar of pens to opposite corners, then fished a small packet of notes out of his pocket.

It wasn't Dick's note, or Bulstrode's or Emmeline's. No, it was the one he never wanted to see. Shacklebolt's.

_Wanted to let you know before it turns up in the papers. Benedict Crabbe committed suicide in his cell last night. Hanging with a sheet. Not exactly a huge shock, though I thought he was a bit less isolated recently. He'd been off active suicide watch for over a year. We will be releasing the story in a few days after the usual investigation and reports are complete._

Snape put the note on the desk and pushed his chair back. Dear lord, well, that was the Crabbe family, snuffed out. No doubt Vince's death played a role. He had been under Snape's care at the time, such as it was. Burned himself to death. Nothing but a little idiot, with a pointless death, nothing left of him. Snape had been there years later when they finally went to scrape up the remains. So little left that it had to be scraped… Now his dad decided to follow him, after lingering on pointlessly for a few years. How many survivors were there from the graduation class of 1978 now? No point to any of it, all that misery…

 _No_ , that wouldn't do. Not at all. Snape shoved his chair back and stuffed the note back in his pocket. There was tea in the break room, and biscuits, and he would go and have some and remember that he was still in the survivor column.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sure, Yule is a real holiday, but I decided to have a little fun and elaborate a few traditions for Wizard Yule.


	8. Follow Orders

_Bulstrode_ , he wrote. No response. He knew Bulstrode always carried her protean notes with her. Theo poured himself some tea.

The flat didn't seem like it had been tampered with while he was being questioned at the Ministry, but he was having trouble shaking the feeling of being watched. He took a drink and jiggled his leg. Nothing was coming through on the card.

_Bulstrode, can I have a word?_

He tried to sip his tea slowly. It wasn't as if he could _do_ anything at the moment. He wasn't about to go breaking into the Ministry to get the second letter; he really would end up in Azkaban that way.

London was settling into a gloomy winter evening, lights blurred beyond his rain-streaked window. The Protean note moved. Bulstrode's blocky writing came through one deliberate line at a time.

_END_

_OF_

_TERM_

_REPORTS_

Well, he knew she wouldn't be happy.

_But I'm so bloody bored, Mil._

It was one of their old code words as eyes; boring meant urgent. _That_ got a response.

_Come through. Floo. Admin offices._

It was a cold soggy walk to Knockturn. Some of the businesses may have had boarded shopfronts, but the Floos still worked if you brought your own powder. The side door to Maggs and Marsh would still open if you kicked away the loose bricks at the lower corner and pried the back the boards at the threshold before casting on the door. There were muddy tracks diagonally across the dusty floor leading to the Floo in the back room, but thankfully the shop was empty.

Theo threw in his powder, and the connection flared up. He stepped through cautiously to the Hogwarts' administrative offices, brushing the ash off his trousers and peering around the room. Bulstrode liked to hire on students from the House to take on most of the grunt work and to have people she could order around, but she was alone now, brusquely clearing files off her desk onto a trolley.

"Well? What's so boring then, Nott?"

He sighed and pulled a chair over from one of the other desks. "Got pulled in for Ministry questioning today."

She snorted, unimpressed. "Did they finally get wind of Longarse's stunt?"

"No. Don't think they know about Goyle. It was my letters to my dad."

"Your _what?"_

He told her. She wasn't pleased.

"Bloody stupid."

"Yeah, I know."

"Stupid code."

"Oh, yeah."

"If you'd cleared it with me, I'd have told you to stuff it."

"Yeah, Mil, why do you think I never cleared it with you?"

"Cause you're an idiot."

"I got that, thanks. Point is, someone else knew the code and wrote that second letter. Forged it."

"Right, so who knows it?"

"Well, me and Goyle. And my dad and Mr. Crabbe."

"Don't see your dad or Crabbe sending a forgery to themselves in Azkaban on their own. That leaves Goyle."

"Which, I mean. He couldn't forge a… _anything._ "

"What did the code say?"

"Mil, I didn't have a chance to decipher it! I'd need to sit down with a quill… and it would take time. I only glanced it over, I didn't memorize it."

"Definitely your handwriting?" Bulstrode was bearing down now sharply.

"Yeah."

And you _did_ read it?"

"More like skimmed it, didn't have a chance for more than that. But I -"

"That's enough." She was opening a drawer and pulling out quill and parchment.

"What?"

"We need to know, yeah? We'll use the Pensieve."

"What?"

"It's in the Restricted Artifact Archives in the library. School got it when Snape offed the old sod."

"Oh, right."

"Come on."

The corridors were deserted, after-hours on a rainy evening during the holidays. Nothing moved but the portraits wincing and blinking at Theo's Lumos. Bulstrode never bothered with one, she could see well enough in the dark. Their steps echoed off the stones, and Theo felt a thin thread of pleasurable excitement, despite his worry about the letter.

 _It's because it reminds you of being an eye_ , he realized. The corridors at night, Bulstrode stalking along beside him. The possibility of running into either the Carrows or staff or the DA at every turn.

Ridiculous, it wasn't as though those had been good times. But they had been _something_. Was that why Bulstrode never left? She got to relive it. Or perhaps it was the chance to order people around and take the place down from the inside.

Theo _had_ enjoyed being an eye, at first. There were plans and assignments, watching and plotting. He quite liked that bit. But it got worse and worse as it went on. Maybe the worst part of all was watching what it was doing to the rest of them, Daphne in particular, though she always claimed to be enjoying herself. And Snape, of course. By the spring, there was something in the way he stared into the middle distance that was just not right. And he had been letting things go, sometimes losing track of the Carrows' movements.

One of them had to ask the question, Theo had thought. He didn't want to, not at all, but he found himself stammering it out at one of his reports to Snape.

"Sir, uh, if… I mean, do we have…"

Snape had been looking out the window abstractedly, but then he turned to Theo in annoyance. _"What?"_

Theo took a breath and looked at the desk. "Do we have a contingency plan if, uh, if you…"

"You _know_ the contingency plan. You report to Bulstrode," said Snape impatiently.

"Sir."

" _Ask it_ , Mr. Nott."

"How likely is it that we need it?"

Snape gave a short frosty smile. "He won't kill me yet, Mr. Nott. I'm _useful_ to him."

Theo imagined that he was quite useful, right up until he wasn't. He'd caught a glimpse of him after the battle,completely useless, when Aberforth was keeping him alive, hidden in a back room of the Hogshead. It wasn't at all good to be useless, but Theo knew that already. According to Bulstrode, Snape had been making himself useful in the years since.

They finally came up the last flight and down the corridor to the library. Bulstrode set to work on the locking charm on the doors under the disapproving glare of the portrait of Alphonse Armitage the Archivist.

"Administration division gets all the passwords, Bulstrode?" Theo asked. Alphonse hmphfed.

"Shut it," said Bulstrode in their general direction.

The latch clicked open. Theo's Lumos cast towering shadows between the stacks.

"You can get into the Restricted Section?" Theo asked quietly. Bulstrode didn't dignify that with a response, but set off to the right, skirting the far side of the stacks, Theo behind her. A looming grey shape between two of the shelves made Theo start, but he relaxed as he recognized the Grey Lady, meditatively passing her head through the volumes on the shelves. _Could she read anything like that?_ Theo wondered.

They were almost at the Restricted Section. Bulstrode's arm caught him straight in the chest. She was pushing him back between the shelves, stony-faced. He dropped his Lumos and edged back quietly. With the Lumos gone, he could see a bluish light coming from the end of the room, only a few rows away.

Bulstrode stepped back out into the aisle. "Who's there?" she said loudly. Theo eased farther back between the shelves. There was a thump from the end of the room.

"Who's there?" said Bulstrode, again.

"Miss Bulstrode, is it?" It was the thin reedy voice of Madam Pince, the librarian.

"What are you doing here?" said Bulstrode, heading forward.

"Well, really, I might ask you the same thing," said Madam Pince, irritated.

"No," said Bulstrode.

Theo crept around the far end on the shelves to the last row, then crouched to peer around behind. Madam Pince was standing behind the last row with her hands on her hips, holding chalk and stylus from laying wards. She was directly in front of the Restricted Section. There would be no getting past her unseen.

"What?" she said to Bulstrode.

"It's hols. You should be off."

"I _don't_ think so. The Restricted Section wards need strengthening. _Some_ students of _some_ Houses take the word 'restricted' as a kind of challenge."

"So, you're volunteering."

"What are you talking about, Miss Bulstrode? I hardly need to volunteer to do my own job."

"You were at the staff meeting. Due to budget concerns, unauthorized overtime and holiday work is unauthorized. No unauthorized work. No unauthorized pay."

"Oh, come now. I appreciate your diligence with school budgets, Miss Bulstrode, but this work is authorized. I spoke to Minerva and she said I could use my own discretion for repairs and maintenance."

"No. Not authorized. She didn't authorize it with me."

"Well, really! You imagine the Headmistress needs to authorize work with you?"

"If she wants it in the payroll, yeah."

Theo covered his mouth with his hand and ducked back behind the row.

"Well, I certainly don't intend to put off needed maintenance for some sort of bureaucratic breakdown."

"So, you're volunteering then."

"No, I -"

"You're not getting paid." Bulstrode always knew how to hit where it hurt.

"And _you_ , Miss Bulstrode? Are you volunteering?"

"No. End of term reports and closing. Authorized."

"Really? And who authorized that?"

" _I_ did."

Theo peered around the end of the row again.

"Of all the high-handed - ! Miss Bulstrode, I will not hesitate to bring this insubordinate, disrespectful exchange to the Headmistress. I will be lodging a formal complaint in your record!"

Bulstrode shrugged. "You can pick up a complaint form in my office. On your next authorized day."

 _Once you had spent seven years being called to task by Snape, everything else had the tendency to roll off your back_ , thought Theo.

Madam Pince was shoving away her warding materials with irritated huffs. Bulstrode watched impassively. Theo poised to move, then ducked behind the end of the stack as Pince stormed off a moment later. Bulstrode followed, and soon Theo was left in utter darkness.

He leaned against the end of the stacks, waiting, listening to the books settling in their bindings and the Grey Lady humming tunelessly in the Herbology section.

Bulstrode was back soon enough, probably after making a show of locking up, her heavy steps unmistakable. Theo held up a Lumos as Bulstrode scuffed away the chalk marks of the unfinished wards.

"A formal complaint in your record, Bulstrode," said Theo.

"It's been tried. I'm in charge of records."

The old wards cracked like an egg. That let them past the Restricted stacks easily enough. There was another set of wards on the inner room for the Restricted Artifact Archive, but Bulstrode got the keywords after a few tries. "She has a pattern," was the only thing she would say to Theo about it. He wondered how often she'd broken Pince's wards.

Theo's Lumos glinted off mirrors, clocks, and amulets as they moved through the room. He could see many of the objects had their own individual wards and protective cases. One small brown glass bottle with a lead stopper was behind three inscribed rings. It buzzed like a trapped fly as they passed. The Pensieve was a bit over halfway through the Archive, in a glass-fronted case whose door squeaked and shuddered when Bulstrode pulled it open. She set it on a table with a thud.

Theo looked at it with distaste. Snape had shown him the basics of extracting memories. It had come in handy a few times when they'd needed to review details of overheard conversations from the DA, but he'd never enjoyed the process.

Bulstrode laid out quill and parchment. "It'll be easier if we both go in, memorize a sentence or two at a time, then we come out and transcribe. Got it?"

Theo nodded miserably. He also didn't fancy Bulstrode listening to him talk to the Minister about Goyle and his dad. Well, that's what came of writing idiotic letters. He pulled out the miserable memory and let it slump into the Pensieve. He took a breath, leaned forward, and slid in.

There he was in the Ministry questioning room, looking nervous as hell, damn it, his voice sounding horribly tinny and nasal. Was that how he really sounded.?

Bulstrode scowled at him as he told Shacklebolt that Goyle's living arrangements were her idea.

"What, you think he couldn't guess?" said Theo. Bulstrode grunted.

Finally they came to the point of Shacklebolt pushing the letters across the table. "The one in the middle," said Theo.

Bulstrode and Theo jostled in close to examine the forgery. It took six trips through the memory in all, memorizing lines, then emerging to have Bulstrode transcribe them. Bulstrode was efficiently counting letters and writing out the code at the bottom of the page while Theo read it over again. He could see why the letters had been flagged as suspicious. With sentences like, "I admire your calm and becoming manner," no matter how good the forgery, it was clearly composed by someone with a very different idea of the relationship Theo had with his father.

He looked down at Bulstrode's completed message:

WEHAVEGGFOLLOWORDERSHIMORYOU

"So, kidnapping then," stated Bulstrode. She was rewriting the message with spaces.

WE HAVE GG FOLLOW ORDERS HIM OR YOU

"Trying to get money out of your dad for Goyle?"

Theo picked up the transcription. "It doesn't make sense," he said, for the third time that day. "He doesn't have any money. It's all been confiscated. And he wouldn't give a shit about Goyle."

"What, then?"

"It's not for my dad, it can't be. It has to be for Mr. Crabbe. He _does_ give a shit about Goyle. Goyle told me they got close in Azkaban. Some kind of father-son thing."

"Replacement father, replacement son," said Bulstrode.

"Right. But Crabbe hasn't exactly got any money either, as far as I know."

"It says 'follow orders.' Someone wants him to do something."

"What's somebody in Azkaban going to do for anyone?"

Neither of them wanted to answer that. At length Bulstrode said, "favors?"

"For my dad?" Theo winced. "I mean, if he wanted to force him into something physical, I don't see why he would need to set all this up. Someone went to a lot of trouble for this."

Theo pulled the memory out of the Pensieve with his wand and let the silver strand burrow its way back into his mind. He shuddered. Bulstrode put the Pensieve back on the shelf and shut the cabinet. They started walking back toward the exit.

"Right. So someone kidnaps Goyle to make Crabbe do something. And whoever they are, they had to know where Goyle was, that I was writing my dad, and they had to know the code. Someone _had_ to be in on it. My dad or Goyle."

"Or both," said Bulstrode.

"But look, Mil, I don't see Goyle getting nasty to Crabbe. I think he genuinely… he's _not_ that good at acting."

"Crabbe might have told someone else about the code," said Bulstrode.

Theo shrugged. They still didn't quite have a toehold.

The Grey Lady was nudging a book trolley along the shelves with small taps. The wheels squeaked.

"What about the forgery?" said Bulstrode. "You said it was a good one?"

Theo gave a small shrug. "Hmm," he said.

Bulstrode looked at him sharply. _"Well?"_

Theo didn't say anything. She cut in front of him and blocked him with her straight arm and one large hand against the wall.

"Or, Zero, do you think you know _exactly_ who forged it?"

Theo didn't look at her.

"And it's someone you're in business with, and you're bound by Good Faith agreements, and you can't say a bloody word?"

Theo didn't meet her gaze, and he didn't say a bloody word.

"Right," said Bulstrode. "We'll take care of that end. You take care of your father."

"What? _Mil._ "

" _No_ , this is our game now. We're handling it. I'm putting you on your dad. Find out if he had a hand in it."

She pulled the library doors shut and reset the locking charm.

"Yeah, it's impossible. I can't send another letter, I'd just get hauled in to Shacklebolt again."

"So, go and see him, then. Don't give me excuses, Zero, figure it out."

Theo sighed. "Thank you for the privilege of the assignment, sir, I pledge to uphold the honor of the House."

She thumped him on the arm. "Find your own way out. I still have reports to file and I have to destroy McGonagall's authorization for library maintenance."

Theo rubbed his arm and trailed after her down to the Administration Floo. Getting in to see his dad wouldn't be a problem, a simple visit request shouldn't be denied. The issue was being able to ask him anything of substance in the presence of the guard on duty.

Unless… the Malfoys knew a guard. How did Draco put it? He was happy to accept charitable contributions for the aid of the selectively blind and deaf, as a fellow sufferer. He'd have to ask Draco how to arrange it.

* * *

Neville looked again at the writing across Daphne's Protean note:

_Of course, come up. Knockturn. Sootscrape Bldg. 4th back. Ring hard._

Was that all it took? He'd only just written her ten minutes before, _'Can we talk?'_ He hadn't hoped for anything beyond another _'piss off,'_ and certainly not so quickly. He tucked the note in his pocket. There was an envelope there; he felt a twinge of guilt. A second owled note from Harry. He hadn't opened this one. He hadn't answered the first one yet. He still didn't know what to say.

Soon, he told himself, as he passed through the shopping district in Diagon Alley. He'd think of a good reply, not lying, but not letting on that he'd found Snape either.

He almost missed the entry to Knockturn, dark next to the colorful fairy lights strung around the Diagon Alley shop windows. He ducked into the narrow gap, feeling absurdly self-conscious. It _was_ a public street.

No holiday lights here; most of the storefronts were boarded. He squinted, trying to make out building names in the dim rainy evening light. It was hard to see much of anything. The buildings weren't particularly tall, but they seemed to lean their heads together like conspirators, dark bricks coated with the grime of ages. The alley was crooked, the buildings set at slightly irregular angles, a slimy gutter running along one side. Gaps between the buildings lead to even darker passages. One of these was occupied by some sort of food stall, the smell of oil and onions rolling out, and little bursts of orange flame under a sizzling pan lighting the faces of customers waiting for their food.

The alley's grimness lessened as he went further in. There were lit shop fronts here, nothing very sinister, more food stalls, a cheap tearoom.

He finally found the words 'Sootscrape Bldg' on a battered sign outside a second-hand wand and broom shop. A side door let him into a cramped lobby with a cracked white tile floor and some sort of bell box with levers for the different flats. A handwritten sign on a bit of cardboard taped to the box read, ' _Ring hard or piss off, luvs._ ' It must be the right place. He pulled the lever for 4B as hard as he could. There was a distant jangling, and the inner security door opened a moment later with a click. The stairs led him up past flats with muffled music inside, or barking, or piles of Daily Prophets on the mat. The door to 4B was ajar. He knocked on it hesitantly.

"Longarse?" Daphne's voice came from further in.

He entered a short hall and pulled the door closed behind him.

"You're having a drink, right?" Neville could see Daphne ahead in a small kitchen.

"Uh, as long as it's not whatever you brought to the bridge meeting…" There was barely enough room for both of them by the counter. Daphne was pouring a very generous measure in two glasses.

She laughed. "No. That was just to take the piss out of Zabini. He's such a snob about booze." She added ice then picked up her glass and the bottle and brushed past him down the short hall.

Neville picked up his own glass and followed her back to a sitting room that was even smaller than the kitchen. It was brightened by butter-yellow walls and a vase of languidly drooping tulips out of season. There was a small shelf with a few books and a contraption that looked a bit like a wireless. A framed photo caught his eye, a group shot. He looked closer. A picture from what must have been Pansy's wedding. She was in pale lavender robes and looked more radiant than someone who advocated handing people over to Voldemort probably deserved. Other Slytherins were there in the group; Nott blending into the shrubbery behind the wedding party, Bulstrode and Daphne both dressed in pale yellow, must have been bridesmaids. Bulstrode looked very much like she wanted to punch things. Daphne was laughing, and she looked utterly…

"Go on, have a seat."

There was nowhere to sit but a faded brown velvet loveseat., Daphne was already sitting at one end, sideways, her elbow up on the back.

"Well?'

"Er."

"What? You _did_ want the drink?"

He sat at the other end of the loveseat and put his glass on the table. There was only just enough room for them both.

"So, what is it, Longarse?"

"Have you, I mean, have the eyes really just dropped it?"

She chuckled. "Don't tell me you're losing sleep over Goyle. You're out of it."

"No, that's just it, I'm _not_."

"I really don't see it blowing back on you. Bulstrode just said that to wind you up."

"No, it's not that," Neville said impatiently.

"Well?"

"I'm not out of it. Nott called me in. So, I'm in now, and I can't just walk away from it. I, I don't walk away from things like this, Daphne. As long as it's not over, I'm part of it."

Daphne looked at him closely and drew back with a laugh.

"You really are like us, you know. You do like to play games. That's Slytherin all over. No matter how stupid or pointless, we always play on to the end." There was something on the edge of bitterness in the words.

"You said you like it."

"Oh, I do, I'm always doing it. You know, Goyle always says that deep down, everyone is just like us, but Slytherins are the only ones who are honest about it."

"You think -"

"I wouldn't give it too much weight, all of Goyle's ideas are terrible."

Neville laughed and took a drink. Whatever it was, it was better than the stuff she'd brought to the bridge.

"Anyway, that's why we won't be giving up. This is our game now. We don't just stop playing."

"You think you're close to finding him?"

She shrugged. "We're making inquiries. Someone knows where he is. He certainly didn't wipe Nott's flat on his own. It will come out; wizards are just terrible at keeping secrets."

"You think so?"

"Of course. Do you know any secrets that haven't come out?"

"Well - "

"So, inquiries. Someone will know something. What about you?"

"Me, what?"

"Your inquiries. Go on." She nudged him with her knee. "What have you been doing?"

"Well, right. I went to Draco."

"I know about that."

"I mean, I went back. I thought maybe he wouldn't have admitted to any contact with Goyle when Harry was along, but it was the same when I went back."

"That's probably right. Goyle won't speak to him. Nott thinks Goyle hates him for not still believing in the 'cause' and getting off easier. I think it's probably for not being the one who died instead of Vince."

"Yeah." Neville didn't know what to say. He had to say _something_ in the hanging silence. "I went to Snape, too."

Daphne coughed on her drink. "You _what?"_

"Not that I thought he would know where Goyle _was_ , exactly…"

"Did Bulstrode tell you where he is?"

"No, I, uh, put a couple of things together. It was mostly a guess."

"Bloody hell, Longarse, you actually hunted down Snape! Did you tell him all about the backbone of our society?"

" _No!"_

Daphne laughed. "What did he do?"

"He told me to piss off."

"You're not surprised, are you? He _is_ in hiding."

"It was just like with Bulstrode."

"Yeah, those two are thick as thieves. Why did you have to go dragging him in?" She had a disgusted look.

"Really? I thought - "

"What, Longarse."

"Ok, now I'm going to sound a fool. I really just thought, well, he recruited you all as eyes because you were particularly loyal to him."

"Ah, that's where you went wrong. You're thinking of Hufflepuffs. They're the loyal ones."

"So, you really don't like him?"

Daphne shrugged. "He's all right, for what he is. It's the… repression and self-loathing thing. It gets old. I don't like being around that, it brings everything down." She took a drink. "Bulstrode says he's getting a little better. I'd have to see it to believe it."

"So, ok, why did you join him?"

"You don't have to _like_ someone to be on their side."

"But I mean, why were you on his side?"

"Well, I don't know." She examined her nails as if there was something wrong with them, which there wasn't.

" _Daphne._ "

"Well, since you're such a good listener." She touched his arm. "I like knowing everything about everybody."

"You don't say."

"Everything. So, as it happens, I really like history."

"History?"

"If you really get into it, it's just people's lives. There's love, intrigue, drama. Not that you'd know it from Hogwarts, that place sucks the joy out of everything. So, I've read a lot of history. It always gets on my nerves how people always talk about Voldemort like he was the one dark lord. The worst, the only genocidal fascist. But that's just nonsense. There have been a lot, wizard and muggle. And they have a lot in common. They're all into hierarchy and control, and mostly they have this real hard-on for controlling women. The minute they get in power, they're all up in your business, telling you who you can shag and who you can't, handing women out like prizes. I _don't_ like people telling me what to do, Longarse, and nobody tells me what to do with my body. It's not on. I wasn't going to sit around and wait for some arsehole to come into power and tell me who to shag." She was still smiling but her voice had an angry edge that Neville hadn't heard from her before.

"So… you became an eye because you didn't want Voldemort to interfere with your social life."

She relaxed. "I can't possibly think of a better reason, can you?"

"No," he laughed.

"Right, Longarse, your turn. You were the idiots lining up to catch Cruciatus. Why did _you_ do it?"

"Oh, probably to keep my friends and family from getting killed or something."

"I _suppose_ it'll do."

She poured them both another drink. They hadn't really touched any new information about what the eyes were up to, but he found that he didn't mind.

"Well, if we're taking turns, why all this for Goyle? Not just that you're looking for him, but Nott putting him up and everything else?"

Daphne raised her eyebrows at him.

"I know he said it was to keep Goyle out of trouble and keep him from reflecting badly on the House, but… well, I don't really see it. All of you eyes seem pretty stable now."

"Bulstrode still gives the orders."

"Right, and you're just the types to follow orders without question."

"Aren't we though?"

"You're really not."

Daphne looked uncomfortable. She took a drink, and rolled the glass carefully between her fingers. "It's sort of a… debt."

"You owe Goyle?"

"Not me to him specifically, but like, all of us."

"What?"

"I didn't think you would get it."

"You could try me."

"Could I? I wouldn't mind."

Neville had just taken a sip. He coughed on it.

"Right. People are always saying Slytherins are into dark magic. They're not wrong. We like our traditions, and dark magic is the original stuff."

"So, you actually learn dark magic?"

"Like, secret classes? Uh, no. But the principles of it, yeah. How it works. Everything has a cost. Light magic is cheap. You don't pay anything for it. With dark magic, something gets sacrificed, so it's kind of drummed into us, to look for the cost and weigh the benefit. In dark magic, if there's a debt and you don't pay, just wait, you _will_ , one way or another. It's better if you just decide to pay it yourself, that way you can be in control of the process. So, when you see things that way, you start seeing that it's not just dark magic, it's the way the whole world works. Debts and balances, that's the game we play. Like if you read one of those old wizard yarns; geas and boons and favors, you cut off my head, and I'll cut off yours. Right?"

"You could see it like that, I guess."

"Well, that's how we see it. We had our games and our plans, as the eyes. And Snape had his; he had a cover to keep, of course. But he wouldn't have had a shred of cover without some enthusiastic Slytherin recruits to prove his efforts. And for us eyes, there would have been heaps more scrutiny and pressure on us without them, especially on Nott. They did us an enormous favor by being part of our cover, and look how they paid for it. Draco barely managed to squeeze out. Vince died, and Goyle lost his dad and watched his best friend burn to death in front of him. Nott says he's still fucked up."

"You didn't exactly make them join."

"We didn't exactly try to stop them. And we knew nobody else would, either. We know how it is with us. Nobody looks after Slytherins."

"You had Snape, though."

"Oh, we had him up to a point. But that point was the cause, and it came before any of us. No, we have to look out for ourselves, we have to be our own cause. But we didn't look after our own. We let them go, and we benefitted, and they paid."

"I just don't see that it's your fault, though."

"That doesn't really matter. It's like magic. Magic doesn't care, right? Does an Unbreakable Vow care if you're a freely consenting adult? Does a life debt care if you didn't ask to get saved? No, a debt doesn't care, you still owe it even if it's not your fault that you owe it. Everything has a cost."

"How do you even keep track of something like that? Everyone would be owing everyone else all the time."

"You just… keep track, I guess. And if you owe one of us, we _will_ remind you."

Neville was getting the idea that Slytherins had a sort of mental ledger of debts and balances.

Daphne put her glass down on the table. She looked almost troubled. She looked at him appraisingly.

"Look, that's why… you _have_ to stop thanking us. Seriously, you really put your foot in it every time."

"But -"

"No, shut up and listen. It's not that we mind you offering to pay us back. We quite like that. But the thanking thing." She grimaced. "It's like you're putting a _claim_ on it. _'Thank you for your service,_ ' bollocks, what you're saying is, 'you noble Slytherins, serving the side of the light and good. Heroically putting yourself in harm's way for the benefit of others, selflessly doing what was right in the face of adversity,' or some rubbish like that. But it's just utter rot and you can't claim us, because we didn't do it for _you_. Or the light and good. We did it for _us._ You may owe us, but you _don't_ get to claim that."

She had that hard look again. And, as it happened, she was right.

"You're right. I made a lot of assumptions. We all did, I mean the DA. But I used to make worse assumptions about Slytherins."

The hard look was gone again. Her face really did change quickly. "Is that an apology? You know, that's almost as bad as thanks."

"I thought Bulstrode was going to hit me when I tried to thank her."

She laughed.

"Ah, Daphne, the reason I wrote to you… look, I'm stuck. I know I made a mess of the parole thing, but I do want to keep helping. I just don't know what to do next."

"Oh, no, no, you had your turn, Longarse, it's mine now."

They were still taking turns then? Neville shrugged. "So, take it."

"I think I will." She looked at him archly over her glass. "Don't you want to kiss me?"

"Uh…"

"You know, Longarse, for fun." Somehow she had edged closer to him on the loveseat. Her hair swung forward as she leaned in.

"Well?"

"Yes," he heard himself say.

She arched herself towards him as elegantly as the tulips in their vase. He could taste the alcohol on her lips, she pressed herself close and there was a smell that made him think of flowers. She drew back from the kiss slowly. She removed the glass from his hand and put it on the table, a kind of private smile passing across her lips. She took his hand in an intent way.

"Daphne…"

"You did say I could try you, but if you can take it back if you don't want it."

"I didn't say that," said Neville quickly.

She laughed and shifted, moving onto his lap. He did want it, he found, very much.

Daphne put his hand where she wanted it, and he slid it upwards, along very smooth skin.

God, it had been a while. Not since Luna, and sex with Luna, well, it wasn't bad so much as confusing. Sometimes he couldn't tell at all if she was enjoying herself, and when he broke down and tried to get her to tell him what she wanted, her remarks were cryptic, at best.

Daphne leaned in and put her mouth on his neck, then whispered in his ear exactly what she wanted, and where, and how hard. Neville discovered that he _was_ the kind to follow orders without question, was quite good at following orders, actually, if the sounds that Daphne was making were any indication.

When she ordered him to the bedroom, he followed her without question. Nice to be just doing rather than thinking so much about it. No need to plan out any next steps, Daphne had him well in hand. When at length, Daphne gave him several urgent orders, he was very, very happy to obey.

He dropped back onto the bed. Daphne rested her head on his chest, he could feel her ear pressed against him. She gave a contented hum. The way she rose and fell with his breath made him think of an ocean. He closed his eyes. A boat on a calm warm sea…

"You can stay a little while, Longarse, but then you should go and call yourself the Knight Bus. My boyfriend will be coming by soon."

His eyes flew open.

"Your… what?"

"My boyfriend, love."

Neville sat up abruptly, the ocean giving a heave to any small craft braving the waters. Daphne propped herself on her elbow and laughed. "Oh, don't tell me you thought it was true love. I said, 'for fun.'"

"Yeah," he said. _Fun_. Where were his trousers? "I thought you were _free_."

"Oh, did you want to be charged for the privilege?" The edge of her anger was back.

He tried to turn his shirt sleeves right-side-out. Everything was coming out wrong. "I, I mean, free to, uh…"

"Oh, I know _exactly_ what you meant. You think I haven't heard it before?"

"No, that's _not_ -"

"I told you. _No one_ tells me who I can fuck."

She _had_ told him, in several ways. Just for fun, just a game. And Ron had told him too, they would turn on you. Or had he turned on her? Shoes, he had shoes somewhere.

He tried again. "It's _not_ that."

Daphne laughed. It wasn't a kind sound.

"I should be able to make that decision too, whether I'm, uh, I'm with someone who's with someone else."

"Bloody hell, you can't even say it. All right Longarse, if _that_ was so fucking important to you, why didn't you bother to ask?"

He looked at her directly for the first time since he'd sat up. She'd made no move to get up herself and was lying on her side, naked, watching him. He felt like he was the naked one. And he had no idea why he hadn't asked. He still felt tricked, even though he couldn't say how exactly.

"Would you have told me the truth?"

He knew at once it was the wrong thing to say. Daphne rolled onto her back and said, "Oh, get out, Longbottom." There was no more anger in her voice, just something like bored disappointment.

"Right, right," he said under her breath. He tucked his rumpled robe under his arm. He was trailing a shoelace as he started for the door. He could hear her voice behind him.

"Kitchen. Back stairs."

Neville stumbled down the hall to the kitchen. There was a door out onto a small iron balcony. He stepped out into the the cold rain and started down the metal stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update 1/06/21: Due to having to cover some extra work shifts this week, and facing some technical difficulties, I'm a bit behind on getting the next chapter of The Cover up ready to post. Sorry for the delay, but the next chapter will be coming soon!


	9. Fool's Errand

It was raining in Puddlemere when Neville stumbled off the Knight Bus, rubbing his elbow from where a sharp curve had jostled him against one of the seats. He didn't much feel like talking to Gran, he'd just make his excuses and go straight to his room.

It did feel strange to be back in his childhood bedroom, but he and Gran had agreed that it didn't make much sense to pay the ridiculous Hogsmead rents for a room he'd hardly use at all during the school year. "Better to save up and stay with me at the hols," she'd said, "no wasting money on rent. You can do the washing up."

Of course, he'd hardly been around to do any washing up since term ended. He'd have to really pitch in in the morning, that would do it.

He unlocked the front door and stepped in, that particular smell of home surrounding him, the cedar of Gran's linen chest, and a bit of damp earth of her freshly-watered plants. Neville pulled off his boots by the door, Gran couldn't stand the wet being tracked in. There was a faint rumble of voices and light spilling from the kitchen. Gran had company. He'd have to at least pop his head in or he'd never hear the end of it.

"Hi, Gran, uh…" he cut off as he saw Harry sitting across from her at the kitchen table, with a cup of tea and a vast spread of Gran's holiday biscuits.

"... hi, Harry," he finished awkwardly.

"There you are, Neville, I don't know _where_ you were off to, till all hours."

"Oh, I just, uh…" he had been about to say 'with friends,' and that would probably get past his gran, but it wouldn't get past Harry.

"Harry's been trying to reach you," she went on, reproachfully.

"Sorry, I've just been a bit, uh, caught up in things."

"Is it that wretched memory of yours? I thought you'd grown out of that. You need to make more of an effort."

Neville found himself flushing.

"Well, I'll leave you boys to catch up. Don't stay up late now, Griselda is coming over for tea tomorrow, and I'll need your help in the morning."

"'Course, Gran."

She stood a bit huffily and headed down the hall. He could hear her steps creaking up the back stairs. He sat.

"Hi, Harry," he said again.

"Neville, is something going on?"

"Nothing, it's just that I've been rushing around and -"

"Look, I don't -"

"I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to write back -"

"Neville, stop! Please don't do this, _please_ not you too. It's not like you."

"Harry?" Neville was taken aback by how desperate Harry sounded.

"Everyone did this to me, and I always hated it. Cut me out, not tell me the truth. My aunt and uncle, they were it doing out of spite. But then Albus and Ron and Hermione, they did it too, out of good intentions, maybe, but it hurts just as much. More, I guess, because you trust your friends to not just, you know, cut you out like that. But you never did that to me, Neville, you always kept talking to me, even if you didn't agree with me. So don't you start cutting me out, not after everything."

Neville sighed. He took out Harry's second note, unopened, and put it on the table. "I'm sorry. I didn't even - I didn't know what to say."

"You didn't open it?" Harry looked hurt.

"I was going to, but I was avoiding it," Neville admitted. "I don't want to lie to you, but there's things I can't say. Or at least, I can't say yet."

"I don't like that, Neville."

"I don't like it much either."

"So don't do it," said Harry, frustrated.

"Harry - "

"No, I'm bloody tired of people tiptoeing around! You think I couldn't tell when you and Ron were humoring me about the prophecy? Nobody wants to give me a straight answer, like I'm delicate, after what I've been through? I don't know what you think I would do to Snape if I actually had a chance to talk to him, or what he'd do to me. At this point, I don't care if he laid into me, as long as I could talk to someone who wouldn't just _humor_ me."

"Harry. It's not that I think you're delicate or that I was trying to humor you, but you… you were saying you're sure that the prophecy was true, that it had to be. Look, I was never in on that information, not like you, so _you_ know a lot better than I do."

"But that's exactly it, that's why I want to talk to Snape. If anyone was in on the information, he was. Did you talk to him?"

Neville paused. He felt acutely aware of how badly he'd bungled by telling Harry and Ron what he suspected about Snape's location. "He answered my message," he said carefully.

"All right, what did he say?"

"Mostly that I should either help or piss off."

"That's it?"

"That's why I didn't know what to tell you. There wasn't much to tell."

"And the prophecy?"

"I didn't ask him."

"Neville!"

"No, remember? I was contacting him about Goyle. This isn't about us, Harry. I don't think he would have answered me if it was."

"You didn't even try," said Harry resentfully.

"Harry, I understand that the prophecy is important. But Goyle's disappearance is more urgent."

"I know," said Harry. "It's not just the prophecy. I keep thinking that I might have a chance to make some kind of connection with him, with the truth, with everything that happened, and then it keeps slipping away again."

They were silent for a moment.

"I felt like that when I was a kid," said Neville. "It's a rotten feeling. I'd get it every time I tried to talk to my parents. There they were, right in front of me, and a thousand miles away at the same time. I'd get so frustrated, I could hardly speak. But I had to just get past it, accept it. Sometimes people just can't give you what you need. But somewhere, deep down, it's there. It's like what you said, that you _knew_ the prophecy was true. You just have to know it, deep down."

Harry shook his head, looking at the table. "I don't know _what_ I know anymore."

* * *

It was earlier than they usually met, and the teashop was crowded. They were wedged into a table next to two rather cozy ladies with large hats and piercing voices chatting about holiday shopping. At least there was absolutely no danger of being overheard.

"The name?" Theo asked.

Draco held his gaze steadily. "You're asking me a favor."

Theo sighed. "Right, what do you want?"

"Minimum £70 going forward." Draco hadn't been in a good bargaining position when they'd first set their rates; it looked like he wanted to correct the lapse.

"Look, I wouldn't give that for English soil. But international, all right, £70 minimum."

"The name's Priestly, Officer Jacob Priestly," Draco said. "You send him a note first, and then put in your visitation request, not the other way around. Say something about wanting to have the visitation procedures correct. He'll write back with instructions. When you put in your visitation request, he'll pick it up and make sure that he's the one who escorts you in. You just pass him the fee when you're turning your wand at security."

"How much does it cost?"

One of the ladies brayed with laughter. Draco winced.

"I wouldn't venture a guess. It has been two years."

"Just a rough figure. He'll soak me if I don't know where to set the bargaining."

"If it's just a deaf and blind guard you need, it should be about a two-hundred galleon contribution. There are limits; you can't go talking about dark magic and crimes."

"Well, yeah." Even if the guard was only deaf and blind enough not to report his visit to Shacklebolt, it would be a start,

"If you wanted to try to bring something in through security, it would be a lot more."

"No, deaf and blind is all I need." Theo would have to change money for this, he didn't like to keep much in his Gringotts account.

"Look, Nott, I want to be kept _out_ of this. But this has been a _farce_ so far, you know it has. Longarse came to me again. I don't know what he thinks the rest of you are doing. He might be striking out on his own. He's a bloody loose curse. You're all going to end up jinxing each other unless you get him out of this. He's far out of his depth. The rest of you too, honestly."

"You're one to talk; you've been out of your depth your whole life."

"Yes, yes," said Draco dismissively, "and the House motto may as well be 'plans gone awry.' It just doesn't make sense to have him blundering around on his own. Have him _in_ it or _out_ of it. Anything else is a disaster and…" he looked away. "If Greg has any kind of chance at all, could you please not ruin it?"

"That's the idea, Malfoy."

* * *

Daphne knocked again. The cherub-faced peephole on the door stayed stubbornly closed. "It's useless,'' she called down to Bulstrode, who was just out of sight a few steps down the metal stairs. "No one's home."

Bulstrode grunted in frustration. "I'll break it in."

Daphne shook her head at her. "They'd see the broken wards straight away. They're _careful_ , Mil."

" _Don't_ want to wait all night."

"We can go and find them. They'll be at Jenks' or at Helix, or at their office or somewhere."

"Bloody Helix," Bulstrode said with disgust.

"We can try there first, get it out of the way," said Daphne.

The bouncer at the door was happy to let Daphne in, no matter that they were too early for opening hours. Helix was quiet, no band til later, a couple of people at the bar and someone casting Scourgify on the tables. Zabini was with the bartender, speaking to her over an account book.

"Bulstrode," he said as they approached, "get you something?"

Daphne leaned on the bar and smiled at the bartender. She flushed.

"No. We want Dodger," said Bulstrode. "He here?"

Zabini raised his eyebrows. "He has a back room. Listen, there's a rule with Dodger. He can talk to people here, but no business. No money changes hands, no agreements, no Good Faiths. Not here, all right?"

"No business," said Bulstrode. "Just talk."

"Right. Down the back hall. Third door past the lavs."

"Come on, Greengrass." They headed back. "He'll have Phelps," said Bulstrode.

"Can I have Dodger, Mil?"

"You want him, he's yours," said Bulstrode magnanimously.

"Brilliant."

They were outside the door. Bulstrode looked at Daphne, who nodded. She knocked. "Who is it?" came Phelps' voice.

"It's me, Dodger," said Daphne. They could hear Dodger's Alohamora through the door. They went in together. Dodger was sitting at a small table with his legs stretched out in front of him.

"Daphne!" he said.

She smiled. "Hi, Dee!" She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and plucked the wand from his pocket. Behind her, Bulstrode was marching over to Phelps, leaning against the wall.

Dodger laughed. "What are you doing, Daphne?"

There was a crack from behind as Bulstrode cast Expelliarmus on Phelps and pushed her arm against his chest. "I'm going to thump you," she said. Daphne used Dodger's wand to lock the door.

"Very funny, Daphne. Look, we're meeting someone -"

_Thump._

"Hey!" said Phelps.

"Daphne, what are you playing at? Give it back!"

"Dodger, we want to talk about the letter," said Daphne, not giving it back.

"The what?"

_Thump._

Phelps grunted.

"The letter you wrote to Theo's dad, love."

"I didn't -"

"You did, Dee, it's all right, we already know what's in it."

"That's fine, _I_ don't."

_Thump._

"Stop it!" Phelps gave a heave and attempted to throw Bulstrode off him. She subdued him after a short scuffle.

"We want to know who hired you to write it and why," Daphne went on, calmly.

"Did Theo put you up to this? He needs to remember his agreements, and stay in bounds."

 _Thump_.

"Ooof."

"Who hired you?"

"I _don't_ talk about my clients."

_Thump._

"Eddie?" said Phelps.

"Daphne, nobody uses names on the dark market, you _know_ that."

"That's all right, dear, we'll take a description."

"No."

_Thump._

" _Eddie!"_

Dodger made a grab for his wand. Daphne cast a stinging hex that made him swear and grasp his hand. "None of that."

Bulstrode thumped Phelps again.

"Listen, will you just listen for a minute? Leave him alone, and listen! If I was hired to do something, _which I wasn't_ , wouldn't there be Good Faith agreements in place to keep anyone from talking -"

 _Thump_.

"Stop!" Dodger pushed a hand roughly through his hair.

"Why would you sell out Theo, Dee? He's your partner, we _know_ that."

"If we did anything, which we _didn't_ , it would have nothing to do with him. He needs to abide by any agreements -"

Bulstrode drew her fist back.

" _Eddie!_ "

"Right, right, listen. Just stop and _listen_. Even if I have no idea what letter you're talking about, everyone is familiar with the _kind_ of thing, what you would _reasonably_ think if you _heard_ about that kind of letter, right?"

"Go on."

Dodger caught his breath and cast a quick look at Phelps. "All those old boys in Azkaban have galleons stashed away somewhere, right? Not in any family Gringotts' vault where the Ministry can get their sticky fingers on it. Under a rock somewhere, who knows, so if they ever get their miserable carcasses out of Azkaban they have some resources to fall back on, right?"

Daphne nodded.

"Right, so if someone knows that a family isn't on speaking terms, they decide that they'll strike up a correspondence with dear old dad, under the guise of a beloved family member, now moved with the tender bonds of filial love to reconcile with the miserable bastard -"

"Dodger," said Bulstrode.

"- Maybe after a few letters, a tearful reconciliation. And then, not too soon after, a letter describing some financial calamity, prodigal son is on his uppers, maybe dear old dad can help, maybe reveal a location."

"Just a con job," said Daphne.

"It's what you would think, wouldn't you, if you heard about that kind of letter? And it would have nothing to do with Theo, no effect on him whatever, no harm to anyone but some miserable old bastards in Azkaban."

"And you might think it could be some nice steady employment for a few months, with all those letters to forge," said Daphne, smiling.

"I don't see how you'd be _wrong_ for thinking that."

"But it was just the _one_ letter, wasn't it?"

"Daphne, I thought we'd established there wasn't _any_ letter. And Theo should know it would have nothing to do with him."

"Not unless Theo wrote to his dad himself," said Bulstrode, low, from across the room.

"But Theo doesn't write his dad," said Dodger, "can't stand him."

"And the two letters came in almost at once and the Ministry found it highly suspicious and called in Theo to explain himself to Shacklebolt," Bulstrode continued.

There was a moment of silence.

"To… who?" said Dodger.

"To Shacklebolt. And if Theo saw the very good forgery of his handwriting, what would he reasonably think?"

Silence.

"He… he didn't say anything to Shacklebolt, did he?"

"Not yet, love," said Daphne.

"Look, _if_ we were in business, there would be Good Faiths, he couldn't give anyone's name. And he _can't_ go into business on his own, not with some people knowing he was an eye, he _can't_ sell anyone out."

 _"We_ don't have any Good Faiths with you, dear," said Daphne.

"You _wouldn't_."

"We want to know who hired you," said Daphne.

"Even if I wanted to tell you, I don't have any names, I never do, and I couldn't tell you anything, Good Faith."

"Can you write it?"

Dodger gave Daphne a withering look. "That's the first loophole anyone thinks of with a Good Faith. _No_ , I can't bloody write it."

"Remember it," said Bulstrode.

He looked at her blankly. "Oh, you're not serious," he said once he understood.

"Why not? I'm _very_ well trained," said Daphne.

"Be reasonable!"

"But we're _not_ reasonable, love, you know that," said Daphne.

"You might give it a try," said Dodger, hopelessly.

"Why, do you recommend it?"

"Not particularly," said Dodger.

"Right love, don't resist, it'll be easier."

Dodger sighed, but made eye contact. Daphne cast Legilimens.

They had been in some bland little office with a desk and a few chairs. Phelps sat in the corner where he could observe the room and easily get between the desk and the door, his wand held casually along his leg. Sitting on the other side of the desk was a woman, checking one piece of paper against another.

"Take your time," Dodger was saying pleasantly as she examined the forgery.

She was in her forties or fifties, perhaps, dark blond hair a bit past her ears. She looked up. She had a heart-shaped face, brown eyes under arched brows and a high forehead.

"All in order?" said Dodger.

"Yes, this will do," she said. There wasn't much distinctive in the accent. Her nose had a bit of a bump in the middle. That _was_ distinctive. It was the sort of feature that wasn't attractive in itself, but someone who knew how to work could work it, Daphne thought. She tried to remember if she'd ever seen her working it anywhere.

Money was being pushed across the desk, and Daphne could feel Dodger trying to push her out at the same time. He probably didn't want her to know his prices, not that she cared. She followed the push, and was looking at nothing but Dodger's irritated face.

"Right," he said, "you have what you want. Now can we have our wands back?"

"Thanks, love. All right, Lou? Make Eddie patch you up, ok?"

"Right," said Phelps, miserably.

"If any of this ever gets out with our names on it, I will _ruin_ Theo," said Dodger.

Bulstrode used a sticking charm to attach their wands to the ceiling and locked the door behind them as they quickly headed out the back. They could hear thumping and voices from the room fading in the distance as they entered the kitchen. They had to edge past some of the kitchen workers on the loading dock to exit onto the alley.

"So," said Bulstrode, "who was it?"

"No one I know. She was older, at least forty."

"She."

"Yeah."

"Brit?'

"I think so. Sounded like it."

Bulstrode gave her a long look.

" _What_ , Mil?"

"So, then she went to Hogwarts."

"Probably, yeah. Must be about twenty years ago, so what?"

"She'll be in the archives. Class pictures."

Daphne groaned. "Really?"

"Yeah. _Now_. Come on, we'll take a Knockturn Floo."

"Mil, it'll take _forever_."

"It'll take until you spot her."

" _If_ I can bloody recognize her twenty years younger. And what if she was using Polyjuice to meet with Dodger and Phelps?"

"Then we're buggered, aren't we?"

* * *

Theo waited for Officer Priestly at the Azkaban Security checkpoint. He'd almost fumbled the bag of galleons at the handoff, which Priestly had covered with a rather theatrical coughing spasm as he secured the money. Now that was over, all he had to do was question his father.

It was all a fool's errand anyway, an expensive fool's errand. He didn't have any leverage to make his father tell the truth, at least not without outing Goyle and himself for passing illegal communications. But, well, here he was, apparently he wasn't backing out now.

Priestly clicked open the security door and handed Theo his visitor's badge. He could hear the Azkaban sounds now. Distant clangs of metal doors, voices giving orders, and the muffled roar of the ocean. Exactly the same as five years ago. It was the same visiting room too. Theo sat at the heavy table and waited. Five years.

His dad was led in by Priestly after a few minutes. He was not the same. There was a grayish cast to his drawn face, and he was moving stiffly. All to be expected, Theo reminded himself. Five years, and no one stayed the same in Azkaban, even without dementors to help them along.

He sat, dropping heavily into the chair. Priestly attached the wrist shackles to the ring on the table, then took the guard's chair by the door, looking passably deaf and blind.

His dad looked at him with his usual cool expression, but his eyes were so cold and expressionless that Theo couldn't meet his gaze for more than a few seconds. He should be long past being frightened by his father.

"Dad."

He waited.

"Look, Dad. I sent you some letters. I know what I said. In all _three_ of them. But I didn't really mean that second one. You, uh, know that, right?"

If Theo was hoping to get any glimmer of a reaction from his father, he was disappointed. When his, "yes, Theo, " came, it was halting, and as from a great distance.

"Did _you_ mean it, Dad?"

Theo did his best to meet his father's eyes, but looked away quickly.

"We want to make sure everyone is all right," he went on. "That's all we're trying to do. Put everything back. No fuss."

Nothing.

"Dad?"

His head gave a sharp little twitch.

"Could you _please_ talk to me?"

The left half of his face bent and creased downwards.

"Dad!"

The guard was deaf and blind. His father's hand on the table was moving in small twitches like dry grass in a breeze. His face, gray as clay, slid further.

 _Oh, god, he was having a stroke_. "Gran -"

The holes of his eyes distorted and twisted until they weren't there at all. His head folded in on itself, dry.

Theo shoved himself back from the table and fell backwards over his chair. _"No, no!"_

The guard stood up sharply. "Here, now!"

The yellowish-gray thing at the table, not his dad, not at _all_ , was jerking and twisting and bobbling, parts at the edges flapping, and there was a dry rustling all around.

Theo pressed himself back against the wall. _"No, no!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably be moving to posting every other Monday morning now due to changes in my work schedule. Thank you so much for reading! And thank you those who can review, it's very much appreciated!
> 
> Bulstrode and Daphne did try the good cop/bad cop technique the other way around once, but it really didn't work. Bulstrode completely failed at smiling at their target and Daphne couldn't stop giggling.


	10. Knots

_Snape -_

_Edward Nott is missing. We can't rule out escape or foul play through dark magic. We have just begun our investigations, but I wanted to let you know straight away. Theo Nott was visiting his father at the time of his disappearance and has been taken into custody. I know you vouched for him several years ago as a member of your eyes, but his current communications with his father have been cause for suspicion._

Current communications? What on earth was going on? Try to leave and live his own life for a few years and everything went to hell. Bloody typical.

Snape slapped the protean note on the desk and scrawled an answer to Schacklebolt's message.

_I have your portkey. I'm coming through to your secure office._

He made it over to his office door in a few steps. "Grossman!" he called out into the lab.

"Yeah?"

"I'm leaving. I'll be… I'll let Dick know when I'll be back."

"But the protocol testing is -"

"Do not touch _any_ of the diagrams, do you understand me?"

"Well, sure, but -"

Snape slammed the door. He patted his breast pocket, the small packet of emergency potion vials was still there. It would be winter in England, where was his heavy cloak? Writing was still appearing on Shacklebolt's note on the desk.

_No, if he has escaped, you will be safer where you are. You are not to…_

Snape retrieved his cloak from the wardrobe and stowed the note in his pocket. He fished out the portkey Shacklebolt had given him two years before. It was for emergencies, definitely intended to take him away from fugitive Death Eaters, not towards them. It was contained in an old biro. Snape carefully unscrewed the plastic pen top and shook out the pen cartridge. There - the small metal spring rolled free on the desktop. He touched it and was gone.

* * *

Shacklebolt entered the office a few minutes later; a small private refuge, heavily warded. Snape was sitting in one of the two armchairs with his wand out, facing the door.

"Of all the fool -" began Shacklebolt.

"I need to know _exactly_ what is going on."

Shacklebolt took the other chair. "Believe me, I wish I could tell you."

"What did you mean by _missing?"_

"Just that."

Snape glared at him. "That isn't an adequate explanation."

"If I had one, I'd give it to you." Shacklebolt sighed. "Right. _Your_ Theo Nott put in a visitation request for his father. Which he hasn't for five years. It was granted. He went through the usual security protocol, turned in his wand. He had _nothing_ on him at the time of his visit. The guard reports that during the visit he was asking his father about family matters. About letters he'd sent, which is a whole - in any case, after they spoke for a few minutes, Theo made a sudden move, and Mr. Nott collapsed. By the time the guard reached his side, Mr. Nott had been replaced."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"In his place was a sheet," said Shacklebolt deliberately.

"A… sheet."

"All we know at this point is that there are no active curses on it. I was in the middle of the examination when I was _called away._ "

"I want to see it."

"None of this is a good idea, Snape"

"When has that ever stopped you?"

Shacklebolt gave a momentary smile. "Right. I suppose you'd better take a look. But we are _not_ advertising to all and sundry that you're back in the country. Stay here. I'll clear the area and Floo you in."

Snape was left for an interminable quarter hour until Shacklebolt returned.

"All right. I've activated the Floo connection here, and the room is cleared. We can go through."

The Floo deposited them in an empty DMLE corridor. Several equally empty halls later, Shacklebolt led him into a last empty room under heavy wards.

In the middle of the floor lay a sheet. It had been gathered and knotted to form a crudely shaped body.

"No curses?" said Snape.

"None."

What passed for the neck and waist were tied with a bit of frayed string or floss. The hands and feet were the corners, knotted. The sheet wasn't particularly clean. The whole thing was clearly cobbled together with Azkaban materials.

"Spells?" said Snape.

"Traces of magic, yes, but no identifiable spells any more."

"The knots - "

"Right, let's take a look."

Shacklebolt teased apart the frayed strings and they pulled the wrinkled sheet open. It wasn't large, the size to fit a narrow Azkaban cot. It was worn and patched in places. It was also stained. A dull brown blotch was in the upper-middle, and there were quite a few other stains as well. Shacklebolt was working at the knots that made the hands and feet. Once they were undone, they revealed nothing but wrinkled patched sheet corners.

Shacklebolt made a face at the stains. "We'll have to test that, but it wouldn't be a stretch to guess it's Nott's blood."

Snape nodded absently, peering at the small fabric patch sewn into what had been the right 'hand'. He gingerly lifted the corner of the sheet. Nothing on the other side, no hole for the patch to cover. He let the sheet drop. A sheet and patches of another sheet. He wasn't much inclined to trust coincidences at the best of times. He was fairly sure that this did not qualify as the best of times.

"Right. Someone did something to Nott and replaced him with this… effigy. Either it was smuggled in from the outside or... well, how anyone could channel the power to activate this on the inside without a wand? We're already conducting a sweep of all the cells and prisoners," said Shacklebolt.

Snape nudged the bottom edge of the sheet with his shoe. Part of it had been frayed or torn away.

"Well, any ideas, Snape?"

He raised his eyebrows at Shacklebolt and smiled. "None whatsoever."

"Really," said Shacklebolt flatly.

"You seem to have it well in hand. Sweep of the prisoners, who don't have any wands. Detaining Theo, who didn't have one either. Clearly the guards are incorruptible and above suspicion."

"Come off it. They'll be investigated. We're not ready to rule out any suspects. Including Theo Nott."

"I can tell you Theo Nott had nothing to do with this."

"And I can tell you he knows something. He took up extremely uncharacteristic communications with his father after five years of silence. Followed by a visit. During which his father was replaced by an effigy."

"You think he made this?" Snape waved his hand at the sheet. "In a visiting room, without a wand, under guard?"

"No, but I think he knows something."

"He won't tell you a bloody thing. Release him to me."

Shacklebolt came around the sheet and stood close to Snape. "Is that an offer?"

"What could _I_ offer you?"

"Stop it. If you think you can get information from Theo Nott, be my guest. I _don't_ like to think that he's become a Death Eater sympathizer after his service in the war, but stranger things have happened."

Snape made a scoffing noise.

"Oh, really?" said Shacklebolt. "You've never heard of anyone changing sides, have you?"

"We're not talking about me."

"No, we're talking about Theo Nott, who has conflicted family loyalties and has been acting suspiciously. I can't in good conscience rule him out on your word alone. For Merlin's sake, Severus, have you even seen him in the past few years? People _do_ change. And I don't think you want Edward Nott on the loose, if he _is_ alive and out. If you can get Theo to tell you anything that will help, it's in your own self-interest to share it."

"We both know I look after that."

"Oh, certainly, you're very good at that, for an adrenaline junkie with a death wish."

"Spoken by a Minister who can't stay out of DMLE investigations."

Shacklebolt snorted. "We can go back and forth all you like, Snape. You know I'm right. We've worked together before."

Snape raised his eyebrows at him skeptically.

" _You_ are a member of the Order."

"The Order is defunct."

"And you always will be. Do you think I let just anyone demand to see evidence in ongoing DMLE investigations? You _should_ get out of the country. If you're going to be stupid about that, the least you can do is let me know if you find any trace of Nott. As a fellow member of the Order."

"And Theo?"

Shacklebolt smiled. "Aurors have been going in circles with him for the past four hours. He's one of _yours_ , all right. I'll release him to your custody. I'll bring him through to the secure office and you can Floo out from there. You have my protean note. _Use it._ And remember what I said about being stupid."

* * *

Theo came through the Floo a few minutes later, looking very much like someone who had been questioned by Aurors for four hours. He sagged further at the sight of Snape, who was waiting for him, alone, watching the Floo behind him keenly. No one else came through.

"Sir."

Snape leaned in and spoke quietly. "We are going somewhere private and you're going to tell me _exactly_ what happened."

"I, I don't know, he just - "

" _Not_ a word. Where do we go?"

"Uh, I think Bulstrode's in the administrative offices. But she'd have to let us through on her end and I left my protean notes behind when I went to Azkaban."

"Never mind, I have one."

Theo conjured himself a pint of water while Snape wrote to Bulstrode. When Bulstrode confirmed that the Floo connection was open on her end, they went through.

Bulstrode was sitting at her desk, her arms folded.

"Sir."

"Bulstrode," he said.

"We were handling it," she said, irritated.

"Goyle, you could handle. Mr. Nott, you can't. I know him. Trust me, you do _not_ want to handle Mr. Nott."

"Mr. Nott?"

"Yes," he said sharply. "Nott is going to give us a very complete report and we are going to have a meeting with _everyone_."

"Fine. Daphne's in the archives. I'll call her."

" _Everyone_ , Bulstrode."

They stared at each other stubbornly for a long moment.

" _I_ didn't bring Longarse in," said Bulstrode.

"He's in now. Get him."

Bulstrode sighed and turned to the Floo while Theo began his account, starting with everything he hadn't told the Aurors. By the time he'd described the code and the second letter, Bulstrode had Daphne in from the archives and Neville in through the Floo.

"I was trying to ask my dad about the letters," Theo was saying, "and… his face just _slid_ down, sir, I thought he was having a stroke. And then his whole head caved in like an empty bag -"

"What?" said Neville.

Snape spoke over him. "That was _not_ your father."

"But he, it, _spoke_ to me. Is he still alive?"

"You didn't see anything die. That was nothing but an effigy running out of power. A rather crude simulacrum. First principle."

Neville wasn't sure what he meant by that.

"You said there was a coded message in the forged letter," said Snape.

"Yeah. 'We have G G. Follow orders. Him or you.'"

"Damn it, it fits," muttered Snape.

"But we don't know what the orders would be," said Theo.

Snape sighed. "We do. And he did. Benedict Crabbe committed suicide two days ago. With a sheet."

Theo sat heavily at one of the empty desks. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. And _that_ wasn't your father. It was a sheet with your father's blood on it. As well as a small patch from another sheet, at the hand. In order to apparate without a wand, to break through Azkaban wards, and to animate an effigy, your father needed a tremendous amount of power. A _willing_ life sacrifice. If the willing sacrifice of a hand can bring someone from the dead, imagine the power from a life. That would be more than enough."

"But how -" began Neville.

"First principle of dark magic," said Snape impatiently. "The part stands for the whole and the whole the part. A patch was sewn on the effigy sheet. If it came from the sheet Mr. Crabbe used to take his life , then magically speaking, those two sheets were one and the same. And Mr. Nott's blood on his sheet… the sheet symbolically _was_ him. No wand needed. He may as well have had his hands around Crabbe's throat."

Theo looked sick.

"The release of energy at Crabbe's death would give Mr. Nott all that he needed to apparate and more. No doubt your father intended the effigy to remain in place indefinitely, but that amount of power… did it actually _speak_ to you?"

"A few words."

"That may have been enough to collapse it. In any case, your father has been out for two days."

Theo looked sicker.

"A willing sacrifice?" said Neville. "But why on earth would Crabbe agree?"

"The letter was threatening Goyle. He loved Goyle," said Theo quietly.

"He must have made the mistake of letting your father find out," said Snape.

"If Dad's been out for two days, do you think Goyle…"

"There's a good chance he's still alive. Crabbe wouldn't have agreed to the bargain without _some_ assurance of Goyle's safety if he followed through. In the long term, though, Goyle would be a liability. We won't have much time to find him."

"Where do we start?" said Bulstrode.

"He had to have help from the outside. Someone sent that letter," said Snape.

"Oh, we have that," said Daphne casually. "Bulstrode and I got it from Dodger. It was some old woman."

"Old woman?"

"We don't have her name yet, that's why I was going through the archives. Dodger showed me his memories. Forties, fifties, maybe, I can give you her description."

"If your idea of a description is 'old woman' for a forty-year-old, you'd better show me."

"Pfff… fine," Daphne sighed.

It was less dramatic than Harry made it sound, Neville thought. Snape approached her, cast Legilimens, and they both stood rather stiffly immobile until Daphne's face twisted into a smile and Snape broke contact.

"Right," he said.

"You know her? Who is it?" asked Theo.

"Yes. Stephanie Coates. Lower-level supporter. Yaxley's, uh, _personal_ assistant. She was released from Azkaban about three years ago. Right. They'll have gone to ground. Somewhere the Ministry can't put a tracker on Nott." Snape tapped one of the desks sharply. "The first step is to find any properties or locations that Coates would have access to. Bulstrode. Archives. Look for any addresses or family holdings. Greengrass. Now that we have the name, you can ask on the Alley and the dark market. Longbottom -"

Neville looked at him in surprise.

"Use your Auror connections. Find any addresses or family listed in Ministry records or her parole checks."

_Merlin. It would be back to Harry again._

"Sir," began Theo.

"I know someone who'll know the family," Snape went on. "I'll get information from them."

"Sir," said Theo again.

Snape glared at him and shook his head sharply.

"Sir, _don't_ cut me out," said Theo.

"What does he need now? To evade the Ministry? To leave the country and cross the border wards without detection?"

There was an uncomfortable silence as Snape stared Theo down.

"Unregistered portkey," said Theo finally.

" _You_ are his target."

"But -"

"Or do you know another source?"

"He might try to buy one on the dark market."

"No. Not without great expense and the risk of exposing himself. Once he has _you_ , he has a source of unregistered portkeys, made to order. And once he gets what he wants and has an avenue of escape, Goyle will be even more of a liability. _You_ need to be in a secure location. Not your flat. And not here, McGonagall will toss you out on your ear if she finds you."

"Sir, I don't need -"

"Would you rather I arrange a Ministry safehouse for you?"

" _No!_ "

"He can stay at mine," said Daphne sweetly. "Your dad doesn't know about me, does he?"

Theo shook his head.

"I have it warded, sir," she said to Snape.

"Be sure it is. Bulstrode. You're point of contact."

Bulstrode gave a short nod. "Get out then," she said. "Got work to do."


	11. Spill

Ginny launched into a hug as soon as she opened the door to him.

"Neville! I was just making tea. Come in!"

"Hi, Ginny, actually I just stopped by to ask Harry something -"

"Oh, he's not home yet, he said they're all being called in for extra shifts tonight. I'm having Hermione over, we thought we might as well take the chance to have a really proper girls' night for once. We'd make an exception for you, though. Can you stay?"

"I really have to run," said Neville, trying to sound regretful. "Can you have Harry Floo me right away?"

"Why don't you just go see him?"

"What?"

"At the Ministry. Just sign in at the DMLE entrance; they'll let you in."

"Really?"

"Of course, Neville," she said, laughing. "I drop by with dinner sometimes when he needs to work late. There - you can save me a trip. I'll pack a sandwich, and you can bring it to him."

"Well, if you think it's all right…"

She just laughed at that, and a few minutes later Neville was bundled off through the Floo with a brown paper parcel for Harry.

The Ministry corridors were quiet at first. It was after hours, but the entrance to the main DMLE wing was open. Just as Ginny said, he was let in without trouble. There was a security gate before he reached the Auror department, but the witch on duty didn't give much more than a glance to him and his parcel. "They're busy tonight dear," she said as he signed the log book and turned in his wand, "be in and out, all right?"

Busy was hardly the word; it looked like the whole department was in turmoil. Floos were puffing on and off so frequently that the ash was forming little drifts at their hearths. Announcements were sounding across the open 'pit' where the lower-ranking desks were crowded below the raised walk that led to warrens of corridors and private offices. Aurors and clerks were forming groups and breaking apart again, hurrying into offices and carrying stacks of files.

How in the world could he find Harry in all of that? His desk must be somewhere in the pit; he'd heard Ron complaining that they didn't have private offices yet. Neville went down the short flight of stairs from the walkway and started edging between the desks, squinting at nameplates and dodging Aurors. The announcements coming from a witch on a raised dais using a Sonorus only added to the chaos.

"Officers Shah and Howlett, report to room 374."

Neville could hear whistles and laughter.

"Briefing in ten minutes."

" _Mandatory_ briefing in ten."

A collective groan rose up from the pit.

"Frank!"

"Officer Shambrook, you are requested in the owlery."

Neville tried to edge through a narrow gap between desks without toppling the stacks of files balanced on them.

"Little Frank, Frankie junior!"

A hand landed on Neville's shoulder and he turned with a start.

"It _is_ little Frank, Frank's boy!"

He was looking into a broad soft face, grey eyes and grizzled cheeks.

The man stuck out a hand. "Ollie Bibwell. _Bibby_. Worked with your dad for years."

"Uh, it's Neville, actually."

The man didn't release his hand at once. "Course, course. Met you once, your dad brought you around the department. He was proud as _proud_ , don't suppose you remember, just a baby then…"

He tucked Neville's hand into the crook of his arm and ushered him along between the desks. "Briefing, Bibs," someone called as they passed. Bibwell gave a dismissive wave.

"All of us proud. Frank's boy, fighting the good fight, eh?"

Neville gave a nervous chuckle.

"Thought we'd see you in the ranks one day. Eh, well…"

He pulled Neville through a narrow gap between two desks and sat him in a wooden swivel chair that gave a startlingly loud squeak. Bibwell planted his rear on the neighboring desk and looked Neville up and down.

"Good to see you - the image of your dad. Fine man. Ah, it was a bloody shame that." He looked down. "Your dad - he's comfortable, and… and all that?"

"Yeah, he's -"

"Just that they said he wasn't recognizing anyone, so what was the use? Not that I didn't want to. My mam ended up in St. Mungos. It's the smell of the place. Turns my stomach. Wouldn't be any good to anyone, right?"

"Of course," said Neville.

"But you tell him Bibby asked after him, all right? _Bibby_. Maybe ring a bell…"

He leaned in, making the desk shift. "Listen. You can rest easy on that, boy. We paid them back, no fear. What they did to your dad was fast, what they got was _slow_ , you can rest _assured_ on that, all debts are _paid_."

Neville had a strong desire to stand up from the wobbly chair and back away, but Bibwell's hand was pressing heavily on his shoulder again.

"Seriously, Bibwell? Can't you sit on your own damn desk?" A woman was trying to get to her chair. Bibwell snorted and squeezed close to Neville to let her by.

"Briefing's in five, anyway," she went on.

Bibwell shrugged. "I did the six o'clock briefing. You go ahead."

"Fine." She pulled a thick file out of her drawer and stalked away.

"All a load of rubbish, anyway," said Bibwell. "All they had to do was keep the dementors around, and we'd never have this sort of trouble again. See anyone coming up with plots and plans when they can't string two thoughts together."

"Er, I've really got to be going. I just came by to drop something off for Harry but I couldn't find his desk…"

Bibwell waved his hand in the vague direction of another part of the pit. "Just over there. There's no hurry now, is there? Look, I… I meant to drop it by for him. But there wasn't any hurry about that either, and him not recognizing anyone in any case."

"What?" said Neville.

"It's only right that you have it." Bibwell started rooting through a desk drawer. "Ah!" From deep in the drawer, he pulled out a photo and thrust it into Neville's hands. It was a bit cracked at the edges, but the figures inside were still moving. His father, much younger of course, in an office, someone was presenting him with something, they were shaking hands. Bibwell reached over his shoulder and touched the picture.

"There he is, tapped by Crouch. _Elite_ squad."

That must be Crouch, pinning the badge to his dad's chest. It glinted in the light. There were others at the fringes of the room. Was that a younger Alastor Moody? It was a bit hard to tell, he had several more body parts than when Neville had last seen him.

"Hand picked! Oh, he was proud as _proud_. Not too proud to remember his friends, though. One of us ever needed a bit of extra clearance for this or that, he'd 'forget' his badge at his desk overnight, pick it up again in the morning. A bit of extra clearance never hurt anyone, and he knew it. 'I've a terrible memory,' he'd say. Never too proud to think of his friends, fine man. Won't hear a word against him."

Neville remembered the badge. His gran had it in a special box in her drawer with photos of his parents. They used to sit together on the sofa sometimes and go through it. The badge had always been heavy in his hands, and he'd loved running his fingers over the bronze sunburst of the Auror department.

"Kept that around to remember him by. I mean, not that he's gone, just ah… happier times. You show that to your dad. Tell him Bibby sent it. Maybe it'll ring a bell, bring back a good time or two, the times we had…"

"Bibwell!" The woman was back, looking very annoyed. "There wasn't any six o'clock briefing. It's the one mandatory briefing, now, for everyone."

"There wasn't?" said Bibwell innocently.

"No. Get your arse in there, Bibwell."

Bibwell reluctantly edged out past the desk. "You come by again, now, and you give that to your dad. From _Bibby_."

"Right," said Neville into the empty air. The pit was clearing out quickly as officers headed to what must be the briefing room, pressing badges into an indentation by the door.

Hell, he'd never catch Harry now, and who knew how long a briefing could last. At least he could leave the sandwich on his desk, and maybe a note. He made his way over to the side of the pit that Bibwell had waved at. Harry's desk was there, close to Ron's. He would have recognized them both without the nameplates by the family photos. He left the sandwich and cast around for a scrap of paper on the clutter of the desk.

_Harry -_

_Please floo me as soon as you can, it's urgent._

_Neville_

Nothing left to do there, Neville started up the short flight of stairs out of the pit behind Harry's desk. The walkway around to the entrance had doorways leading off: Brooms, Equipment, Owlery, Records, indentations by each door.

Neville slowed. It would be a bit ridiculous if it still worked, he thought. Shouldn't it have been decommissioned or something of the sort? But it had been there somewhere in Bibwell's torrent of words, 'a bit of extra clearance never hurt anyone.'

After all, Harry and Ron said they didn't have clearance to view all the records, hadn't they? They couldn't tell where Goyle had been living as a parolee, so chances were, the woman's location would be restricted too.

Neville walked slowly back to Harry's desk. No one was around but a few clerks at the edges, and they didn't seem to be taking any notice. He picked up his note from Harry's desk. No, Harry wouldn't be any help this time.

* * *

Draco sighed. It was _not_ his idea of a pleasant evening, but if he tried to delay it again, he'd never hear the end of it.

"What about the Parkinsons?" his mother said.

"Pansy... look Mother, we're not -"

"Of course not, darling. But you _must_ learn to look _ahead_. It will be the first event for them to show off their new grandchild. The focus will be very much on the baby. That is perfect for us. We _don't_ want to create a stir. We are looking for _normalization_."

Draco sighed again. "Yes, mother."

Narcissa had been leaning on him for holiday party invitations for months. It was rather late now, but she still wanted one more go at it. He had told her that any hint of desperation would do more harm than good. She'd bristled at the suggestion that _she_ was desperate in any way. "It's for the _family,_ dear." By the particular inflection she put on 'family,' he knew she meant Father. When he had finally put in an appearance at Draco's last visit, it was apparent that he hadn't shaved in several days. It was _not_ a good sign.

Just after his father's release from Azkaban, Narcissa had held them both close and said that now they were together again, they could survive anything. At the time, Draco was elated as well, thinking that perhaps their awful isolation was over, but it wasn't, and being his parents' only social outlet for the last two years had become quite suffocating.

Things actually hadn't been quite so bad immediately after the war. Narcissa had the other Azkaban wives on her side then. Not that anyone was throwing lavish parties at the time, but the quiet chats over long lunches and wine commiserating about how things had gone kept them all going. But then Snape had returned from the not-quite-so-dead-after-all, and testified to Lucius' cooperation with his spying during the war. Lucius' sentence was reduced to time served.

The release was a horribly mixed blessing. Narcissa had done her best to play down Lucius' involvement with Snape. "Oh, it was all lies, of course," she told the Azkaban wives. "Snape was attempting to pay back the _many_ favors Lucius has done him over the years. You _know_ you can't believe a word that man says. To think that my Lucius conspired with some half-blood against the Dark Lord? Why, it's laughable."

But the friendships with the other Azkaban wives evaporated, one by one. Narcissa had put a good face on it, covering with talk about how 'busy everyone is, nowadays,' until she received the cut direct from Lucinda McNair while shopping at Madam Malkins'. "As if _she_ were anyone at all," Narcissa had declared bravely. But Draco could see the desperation behind the bluster. His mother had _never_ been without friends in her life. And now it seemed almost impossible to make new ones. After all, a reduction of his father's sentence to times served was hardly a stellar endorsement of the family on the side of all that was right and good. They weren't drawing holiday invitations from the Weasleys or the Yaxleys at the moment.

"The Zabinis," Narcissa said.

There was a creak, then a faint steady noise from the ceiling above. Father was pacing again.

Draco shook his head. "His mother's with her new husband on the continent, and I think Blaise is just having a - party at his club."

"Well, a party…"

"Not that sort of party, Mother." He really didn't want to have to explain a rave to her.

Narcissa sighed. "There's been _such_ a falling off in the good families," she said as she took a slice of the game pie. "No one sticks together anymore."

"Look, Mother, we just can't force it. If we let it come naturally -"

"Then it may _never_ come. We have been doing this longer than you have, darling. It wasn't easy after the first war either, but we worked our way back, and it was not by sitting on our - in any case, we haven't discussed _your_ prospects yet."

Draco stifled a groan.

"Darling, the proper alliance will open doors for all of us. I don't expect immediate invitations. But if you are included as a 'plus one,' and become normalized at events, we _will_ follow. Now, I've prepared a list of unattached -"

There was the creaking thump of the brass knocker on the front door. Draco stood quickly. "I'll get it, Mother."

"Don't be silly, dear, let the elf -"

The knock came again.

"If they made it through the wards on the grounds, it's probably Ministry," Draco said, though the knock didn't have that particular Auror tone. "Wouldn't do to have the elves just let them waltz in."

"We have absolutely nothing to hide, dear."

Draco could hear his father's footsteps crossing the room above.

"Well, perhaps you _had_ better," Narcissa said.

Draco made his escape from the sitting room and crossed the entrance hall. The knock came again. He flicked open the viewhole. It was Snape. _Oh, bloody perfect._ If his father came down…

He hurriedly pulled the door open a few inches and leaned out.

"Sir, uh…"

"Draco."

"Look, sir, I don't -"

"I need to speak to your mother."

"It _really_ isn't -"

"Who is it, dear?" came his mother's voice. He heard steps on the stairs. He slipped out the door and pulled it shut behind him.

"Sir, it's _not_ a good time."

"I need to speak to her _now_ , Draco."

Draco felt the knob pull away from his hand as the door opened behind him. His father was stood in the doorway, in his dressing gown, unshaven.

"You come here, after two years, to speak to my wife?" he said in a low voice.

"Yes," said Snape.

"Oh, _do_ come in," said Narcissa over them all. "It's ridiculous to be spilling out all over the stoop." She was taking Lucius by the elbow and angling him away from the door. "How lovely of you to drop by, Severus, it has been _far_ too long, yes, come in. Draco and I were just having a light supper in the sitting room."

Lucius was staring at Snape stone-faced.

"Now, why don't you two catch up and then join us?"

She gripped Draco's shoulder and steered him firmly towards the sitting room.

" _Wait_ , Mother."

But she was already closing the door behind them.

" _Mother._ "

"Have a seat, Draco."

"We can't just let them -"

"They have things to discuss, dear."

Draco could hear a snatch of raised voices from the hall. _"- Jumped-up half-breed!"_

"That's _not_ a discussion."

"Sit down, dear, you've hardly touched your tea."

"Mother, they'll -"

" _Three years in that place!"_ came a voice from the hall.

"No they won't."

" _\- happy enough to join!"_

"I've known them longer than you have," she went on.

" _\- think you could have lived with winning?"_

"Longer than _you_ have been alive."

" _\- would have destroyed your whole family -"_

"They need to talk it out, dear."

"You think they're just talking?"

" _\- had us all killed!"_

"It's much better out than in."

" _\- destroyed everything you ever loved -"_

She patted his knee. There was a muffled thump from the hall.

"They won't draw wands. They know I won't have that in the house."

A series of short thuds.

"Really, it was _very_ foolish of Severus to have left it so long."

There was a heavy silence from the hall. Narcissa paused with the teapot half-raised. The voices resumed, just a low distant murmur now. Narcissa poured.

"You see, darling?"

Draco drank.

The door opened a few minutes later. Lucius looked disshevelled but smug. Snape's nose was bleeding. He took a seat on the settee.

Narcissa clicked her tongue. "Not on the upholstery, Severus, _really_. You're being petty."

Snape didn't bother denying the charge. "I have a question for you."

"For goodness sake, Severus, take a serviette, there's some on the tray."

"I doubt I'm in danger of bleeding to death," he said archly, "this time." But he took a serviette and dabbed at his nose.

Lucius helped himself to the game pie. He had a satisfied look that Draco hadn't seen for the past few years.

"Narcissa. What do you know about Stephanie Coates?" asked Snape.

"Who, Yaxley's little _friend?_ I'm sure I hardly know her at all," she said dismissively as she poured Lucius a cup of tea.

He didn't take it from her hand immediately, a smile spreading slowly across his face.

"What?" she said.

" _Spill_ , dear."

Draco let his breath out in a small sigh. His parents were doing Snape a favor. It felt like a very small piece of the proper order of things slipping back into place.

"I doubt there's very much to say," said Narcissa. "It's not as though she's _anyone_. Well, _Coates_. Lesser branch of the Rees family, not very notable. You know she was a few years ahead of us in Hogwarts, so I didn't know her well at the time. Pippa Plunkett's older sister roomed with her, I believe. She called her 'Post.' Always a bit of a _striver_. Privy to all the personal correspondence of course, liked to hold on to the choicest tidbits. Quite passable at transfiguration, I suppose, she must have been if one believes what they say."

Draco wasn't sure what his mother was getting at.

"At any rate, she took a Ministry clerkship after she graduated. Registration or something of the sort. That was rich, considering what she got up to. You'd think mail clerk would be more fitting. I believe that was where Yaxley met her. She claimed to support the cause. I hardly know, but at least she was quite an avid hanger-on. I wouldn't swear that Yaxley was the only one she hung on to. Dear Lavinia Yaxley never knew. Not surprising, the way the Coates woman could come and go as she pleased. I never understood what Yaxley saw in her. Such _filthy_ birds."

She sipped at her tea. Snape was looking at her thoughtfully.

"Understood," he said.

Draco wasn't sure he understood, but he was beginning to get an idea.

"Any family property?" asked Snape.

"Nothing to speak of. Some flat on the Alley back when she worked for the Ministry, I believe. But no secret 'nest,' if that's what you're thinking of," she said with a smile.

"Thank you, Narcissa." He turned to Lucius. "By the way, Ed's out."

Lucius stopped with his cup halfway to his lips. "Nott?"

"Ministry didn't bother to tell you, did they? It's been two days. You'll want to reset all your wards. If I could make it through…"

Lucius stood abruptly. "Draco. See Severus out. I'm getting dressed, then we go out to the perimeter.

Draco felt vaguely disappointed that Snape had managed to pay back the favor so soon. He stepped out on the stoop with Snape and pulled the door closed behind them. A cold drizzle was darkening the flagstones.

"Sir, it's about Goyle, isn't it?"

Snape didn't answer, not that he needed to.

"Does he have any chance at all?"

Snape sighed. "Did he ever?"

* * *

The DMLE clerk didn't pay much attention to his lie as Neville signed back in. "Forgot to leave him a note, won't take a minute," he said. It felt surprisingly natural, maybe because he'd already tackled lying to Gran.

He'd breezed back in from the Floo as quickly as possible. Gran had tried to talk to him, but he'd called down from the stairs, "sorry, have to run, Ginny asked me to drop something for Harry at his desk. I'll be back in a bit!"

He'd always been terrible at lying to Gran, and she could always tell. But this time, she only said, "you really need to learn to manage your time."

He reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hall. He threw open his bedroom door with a thump, then took two silent steps down the hall and opened his gran's door.

Maybe it was that the lie had been partly the truth this time, or that it was so much better than what he was about to do, namely, root through his gran's knickers drawer to 'borrow' one of her prized possessions. At least, he thought, _some_ part of him ought to feel terrible as he ran back downstairs and gave her a kiss on the cheek, his father's badge heavy in his pocket. But that part of himself remained strangely silent as he went through DMLE security, turned in his wand, and stepped back into the Auror department.

It was hard to tell if the briefing was over. There were certainly more people around now, but not the noisy chaos of before. Aurors and clerks were moving with purpose. Neville couldn't see Harry or Ron at their desks, that suited him. If he was quick and purposeful himself, maybe no one would notice him.

He shifted his dad's badge out of its case and into his palm, cupping it in his pocket. A few people were moving along the walkway around the pit, absorbed in their business. Neville walked purposefully to the records room door and slid the badge into the indentation next to the handle. There was a click and the door opened.

It was a dim and crowded space, a labyrinth of tall wooden file cabinets with yellowing labels. He looked at the nearest cabinet, it's label faded almost into illegibility. _Aberrant Behavior, 1587 - 1588_. Oh, bloody hell, was the whole place organized by infraction? _Broom Violations, 1834. Cauldron Offenses 1931 - 1956._ All the files were utterly useless. He headed further in, passing from aisle to aisle, glancing at labels. There had to be some way to cross-reference. Most Death Eaters probably had more than a single crime, to start with. If he had his wand, he could have used a Point-Me or Accio, perhaps that's what the Aurors did.

Somewhere behind him he could hear the main door opening, and he quickly ducked through the stacks. He could see the top of someone's head bobbing along to the far end of the room where another door led out.

Perhaps that was the point, low clearance useless files in the front, sensitive documents further in. He hurried to the far side of the room. Yes, there were other doors, labeled with clearance levels. He didn't know which door the other figure had taken, but if he had to take a chance, higher clearance was better. Less chance of other people in the room, better chance for useful information. He pushed his dad's badge into the indentation next to the last door. It clicked open.

It was a much smaller room, no deep maze of cabinets, but open orderly ranks ten across and five deep. No place to hide here, he'd have to be quick. He tried to think of where to find Coates. She wasn't a Death Eater, was she? At least he'd never heard her name among those who'd taken the mark. A low-level supporter, Snape had said, paroled. Fine, but what was she paroled for, exactly?

Neville scanned the labels on the first rank of file cabinets. There was one drawer labeled 'Collaborators,' yes, that _might_ do it. He pulled open the drawer. There were folders, but no names. He still didn't understand the organization, but when he flipped open the one labeled 'Interrogations,' it expanded at once, almost filling the drawer with subfolders by name. Finally. He riffled back through the files as quickly as possible. He'd overshot his mark, but as he was flipping the files back, he stopped staring at the name under his fingers. _Snape, Severus_.

 _No_ , this was absolutely not the time. None of this was about him. But it was his father's badge heavy in his pocket, and Malfoy's claim that his father had interrogated Snape, and Unbreakable Vows of silence, and Bibwell's talk about the good times… He wouldn't read it. No need for that. Just a very quick glance, then back to Coates. He opened the file.

_9 September, 1978, 3:07 am. Subject: Snape, Severus._

_Present: B. Crouch, F. Longbottom, A. Moody (Binder)._

There was a click behind him and the door handle began to turn. Neville snapped the drawer shut and took two steps straight back and flattened himself against the wall behind the opening door. Whoever was entering was walking towards the rear cabinets. Neville didn't bother to look, but stepped around the closing door and out into the main file room. He slipped into the aisles. Maybe he hadn't been seen. He hurried between the cabinets and almost straight into a clerk carrying a stack of files.

Now he'd definitely been seen. The clerk fumbled with his files. "This is _not_ a civilian area."

"Uh, it's not?" said Neville. "I was looking for Harry out on the floor, and someone was just going into this door, so I thought…"

"It's _not_ , you'll have to go straight out."

"Um, where is out? I think I'm a little turned around."

The clerk gave a very long sigh. "This way."

When they reached the entrance the clerk held the door and escorted him through. Well, he'd lost his one chance. Completely useless.

* * *

Theo slumped on Daphne's sofa. They'd just doubled her wards, and he felt a bit lightheaded from the blood he'd donated to the cause. The sight of blood always made him a bit queasy.

"There. Aren't we cozy?" said Daphne.

Theo gave her a look.

"You're moping again? _God_ , Nott."

"I don't like being cut out."

She sat next to him. "But you're not, love."

"Really."

"Of course not. It's only temporary. Snape will need to lay the groundwork first."

Theo looked at her blankly.

"Isn't it obvious? If your dad's after your portkey skills… well, once Snape has everything set, he'll use you as bait. You'll be right in the middle of everything, dear. It just makes sense."

It did make sense. It was probably down to the four hours of Auror questioning that he didn't see it straight off. "Thank you ever so much for the reassurance."

She patted his knee. "Put on some music and try not to be so tragic. I'll make us drinks."

She went out to the kitchen. Theo turned to the stereo system he had rigged up for her a few years ago to be magic-compatible.

"What do you want?" he called to her.

"Put on that one you gave me, you know, Shady Lady."

Theo snorted. She was being _nice_ to him, but a good tune was a good tune. He found 'The Complete Peggy Lee' and cued up Shady Lady Bird. Goodman's tightly orchestrated intro was just starting when there was a bright flash and pop from the hall leading to the front door. Someone was trying to get through the wards. Theo pushed himself off the sofa and drew his wand. Daphne was already headed to the door viewhole, a bottle of vodka in one hand. She checked it, and started opening the door.

"It's okay, it's just Zach."

Theo tucked his wand away and sat again. He could see Daphne touch Zach's hand to let him across the wards, then give Zach a kiss and lock the door. "I'm just making drinks. Do you want one?"

"Sure," said Zach.

She started back to the kitchen.

"What's with the extra -" Zach began, stepping into the sitting room. He saw Theo.

"Hi, Zach," said Theo.

"Daphne," Zach called, "uh, why do you have Theo Nott in your flat?"

"'S' all right," called Daphne from the kitchen. "He's just hiding out for a few days."

Zach backed out towards the kitchen. "Hiding out?"

"You know, dark market stuff. He just needs to lay low for a while."

A bottle clinked against a glass.

"You're harboring a _criminal?_ "

Daphne laughed. "Don't be silly. Of course I am."

"Daphne!"

"Come on. I thought you Hufflepuffs were all about standing by your friends."

"Well, yes, but our friends aren't criminals."

"What, _none_ of them?"

"No!"

" _None_? Are you sure?"

"No! I mean… they would have told me if they were."

"Not with an attitude like that, they wouldn't."

"What?"

"Sometimes you're a little _judgy,_ dear. It doesn't make people want to open up to you."

"Daphne, stop, you're doing that thing."

"What thing?"

"You're changing the subject."

"All right," she said reasonably, "what subject do you want to talk about?"

"Nott. Your sitting room."

"Yes. He's staying a few days."

"But… where is he going to sleep?"

"The sofa. Unless you've been thinking about my suggestion - "

"No!"

"See? You _do_ get judgy."

"Daphne, can we please talk about this?"

Theo could hear the bedroom door opening off the hall.

"We _are_ talking about it…"

The door shut. Theo sighed. That was going to go on for a while. And knowing Daphne, they would have to make up when they were done fighting. If he wanted a drink, he'd have to make it himself.

The music followed him faintly as he went down the hall to the kitchen, bright brassy notes and Peggy Lee's smooth voice floating over it all. It looked like Daphne had been making vodka martinis. He poured a generous glass from the shaker and took an extra olive. The voices from the bedroom were down to a low murmur.

He took the drink in a couple of swallows. That was a mistake, he felt it immediately. He didn't have his full supply of blood at the moment, and the hours of questioning didn't help. Food - that's what he needed. Daphne wasn't much for cooking, but if she had at least the basics on hand he could make himself an egg sandwich or something. He took a few more olives as he started looking for the cold cupboard. When he stood up from leaning over to look in the lower cupboards, his vision sparkled and he felt a wave of dizziness.

He held onto the counter and breathed slowly as the head rush cleared. His pale reflection swayed in the windows to the back balcony. No, he wasn't swaying that much. There was a white shape outside on the balcony, moving behind his reflection.

He froze, trying to make out what it was. A pale face with black eyes. He caught his breath and let it out in relief. It was just an owl on the balcony railing, it's shape blurred by the rain-streaked glass.

"Daphne? You've got an owl," he called.

There was no answer from the bedroom. Well, it was going to have to wait. He wasn't about to let down the wards for a bloody letter. Was it a letter? The owl was holding something.

He took another olive and stepped closer to the window. Something like a dark swath of cloth hung from one of its talons. He chewed the olive, That was odd. Not a letter or a package, and people usually didn't send post owls around delivering scarves or whatever that was.

But it wasn't a scarf exactly, he could see now that it was bigger than that, broader. A whole cloak? It was rising up, he had it all backwards. It was a figure in a cloak, owl on its shoulder, turning to face him.

Theo drew his wand, holding on to the counter with his other hand.

_Goyle._

Theo reached the door in a couple of steps. The owl turned and shifted on Goyle's shoulder, then spread its wings. The white shape wavered in the glass.

It wasn't an owl at all. It was a woman with one hand on the back of Goyle's neck and her wand pressed against his throat. Goyle's face was a rictus of fear.

 _Open the door_ , the woman mouthed at Theo through the glass.

He shook his head. The wards should stop anything. Almost anything. If she turned her wand on him he could duck behind the counter. He seemed preternaturally aware of each note of 'Sunny Side of the Street' in the next room.

The woman yanked on the back of Goyle's neck, and the two of them moved forward with a few awkward steps. The woman mouthed, _'open the door,'_ at him again.

Theo didn't move. He could call for Daphne, but having Zach come in the room probably wouldn't help matters.

The woman angled her wand against Goyle's neck and gestured at the door. Theo shook his head. She cast something and blood bloomed from the side of Goyle's head. He clasped his hand against his face and lurched sideways, she yanked him by the back of his neck and cast again, but Goyle was shoving her away and stumbling forward, blinded by the blood. The woman slipped on the balcony and went down, scrambling for her wand.

Theo wrenched the door open. "Goyle, this way!"

Hell, he wouldn't be able to cross the wards, not unless he was touching Theo. Theo stretched out an arm; Goyle flailed forward and their hands met. Goyle's hand clamped hard on his, and he pulled Theo bodily out onto the balcony. Somewhere behind him he could hear Daphne calling his name. Goyle grabbed his wand hand and twisted his wrist until his fingers opened. The woman was up now, seizing both of them, and apparated them away.


	12. Useful

Theo was on his knees. Goyle held him down by the shoulders while the woman did something to secure his hands behind him.

"You shoulda seen your face, Zero," said Goyle, laughing. He was wiping the blood off the side of his face with his sleeve. No mark underneath; just another trick. Goyle was in with them after all, of course he was.

"Predictable," the woman said disdainfully. "Running straight to your girlfriend's place."

"She's not my girlfriend!"

"Oh really? She was hanging all over you at Helix."

Theo winced. They had been a bit _too_ obvious.

"Dammit, Goyle, did you really have to go along with it?"

The woman finished with his hands. He tried twisting them apart, but they were well and truly stuck together. They were in a beige bedroom with heavy mustard-yellow curtains over the windows. It hardly looked lived-in at all, just a bed, chair, bedside table, and a TV on the sideboard. A muggle room of some kind.

"Nah, it's all right now, Zero. It's your _dad_."

"My dad?" Theo tried to keep a little surprise in his voice. It was probably better if they thought he knew nothing at all.

"Yeah! He's out now, and next thing he's getting us all out of this sodding country. You too!"

"Out…" said Theo carefully.

"Yeah, out. You _are_ going to help. You won't be stupid, now?"

Theo shook his head in agreement. They held all the wands, after all.

Goyle pulled him to his feet.

"My dad's here?"

"Nah, we've got him somewhere the Ministry can't track him. We're not the one's the Ministry will be looking for. You did cover for me, didn't you? I owe you one."

Theo sighed.

"We can give him his hands back now, right, Post?"

"Not yet," said the woman shortly. "Not until we're sure of him."

"But - "

"That's enough. The bindings stay." She was turning out Theo's pockets, pulling out his protean notes. He could see some writing appearing across one. The woman read it with a smile, then cast Incendio on the lot. Theo swallowed. That wasn't a good sign.

The woman deposited a key with an orange plastic fob on the table. "Come on, Goyle, let's go." She took hold of Theo's shoulder and Goyle's arm, and apparated.

It was a long series of apparitions. No doubt it was to keep him disoriented, Theo thought, and it was working. He was dizzy and sick and had no idea where he was, beyond that it was dark, wet, and muddy. Finally he was bundled onto a broom with sticking charms, Goyle just behind him. The woman cast a disillusionment on them both, and then they were off. It was pitch black at first, with a pelting rain, then the rain cut off abruptly as they dipped into a dark rock tunnel. Theo had to squeeze his eyes shut at how close they were skimming the rock. Goyle's hand clapped over his mouth, and the air changed. Theo opened his eyes. They were lofting up through an immense cavernous space, weirdly lit. It took a moment for Theo to realize that they were fluorescent lights, and the moving objects far below were men in yellow hard hats.

The broom was shooting straight up through a forest of metal struts and ducts, then leveled off and brought them down on top of a vast drop ceiling. They were in a wide in-between space, a dusty empty place above the ceiling beams and below the top of the cavern. It was dark, just a dim bluish glow leaking up around the edges of the ceiling from the lights below. Theo could barely see the metal beams attaching the ceiling to the cavern roof. There was a steady rushing noise.

Goyle pulled him off the broom and Theo staggered. The owl flew up from behind them silently; he could see her transform as she landed. She dropped the disillusionment on them. "Come on," she said briskly.

Theo's eyes were adjusting; he could see they were heading to a recess at the edge of the ceiling where a colossal metal pipe went up into the cavern roof. The rushing noise was louder here. Running water. A figure was emerging from the recess behind the pipe.

"Hello, Dad," said Theo.

His father was looking him over appraisingly. "Any trouble?" he asked the woman.

"None whatsoever," she said with a smile.

He studied Theo again. "Well, does this mean you've decided to help your father?"

"How would I help you?" asked Theo carefully.

"Course he will," said Goyle.

"Portkeys, Theo. That _is_ your speciality isn't it? Has been for years. We'll want one capable of taking all of us beyond Ministry control. The farther, the better."

"We'll take you too, Theo," said Goyle. "You don't have to stay in this place anymore. Once we get settled, we'll send back for Mr. Crabbe. We'll get him out next."

Theo froze, feeling his stomach drop. Goyle wasn't in with them, not at all. No, he was just _useful_. His father was watching his face. _Shit,_ he had to stay calm, he couldn't let on that he knew. Was he being obvious? A smile was spreading across his father's face. _Shit_. And now that they had him, how much longer would Goyle be useful to them?

"Yeah, I'll make the portkey," said Theo.

"See?" said Goyle. "I told you he'd come around." He was smiling. Everyone was. Theo made an attempt, not that it came off.

* * *

_Meeting_

_Under bridge_

_Now Longarse NOW_

The message appeared on his protean note from Daphne, but it was not Daphne's handwriting. Neville recognized it from every curt message Bulstrode had sent him regarding his Hogwarts' schedule.

He was back at his gran's, up in his room, trying to think of a way to get back into the records room without being noticed. He didn't have a shred of information to report to the others yet, but he didn't fancy making Bulstrode wait. He could imagine her cracking her knuckles.

He eased himself off his bed where he'd been sitting, propped against his pillows, turning his dad's badge over in his hands. He hadn't had a chance to slip it back into Gran's room yet; she'd gone up to bed as soon as he came in from the Ministry. With any luck she was already asleep.

He picked his way down the stairs. Third step down creaked a bit. Neville paused, but there was no sound from his gran's room. Down in the hall he pulled on his damp cloak and started struggling into his boots, knocking one over. His gran cast Lumos from the top of the stairs.

"Neville? What on earth -"

"Sorry, Gran, I, I…"

" _What_ are you doing?"

"Just have to step out for a bit -"

"You've been in and out all evening! Worse than a cat."

"I know, it's rotten, I uh, just realized the deadline's tonight."

"Deadline?"

"Administrative stuff, reports. For Hogwarts. Forgot all about it."

"Oh, for goodness sake, you _are_ backsliding. You need to make an _effort_."

" _Gran_. It's just some paperwork. But I've got to go turn it in. It's no use you waiting up."

"Don't see how you think I can sleep with you coming and going like Kings' Cross…" she muttered as she went back towards her room.

" _Goodnight_ , Gran."

He heard her door shut, and sighed with relief. He finally got his boots on and went out into the back garden, out past the apparition wards.

Luckily he remembered the place well enough to apparate. It was late, dark and raining steadily when he arrived. He could see the others had taken shelter under the bridge supports. Not all of them; there was no Theo.

"I thought you had the place warded!" Snape was saying angrily.

Neville joined them. Daphne was as upset as he had ever seen her.

"It was! And we laid fresh ones! No one could get through unless they were touching Nott or me. But I _saw_ them! Goyle and that woman Coates on the balcony, and they had Theo, and then they were gone! Theo _said_ his dad didn't know about me."

"As far as he knew," said Snape. "Has Theo ever sent you an owl? A public owl?"

"What?"

"Stephanie Coates is a rumored owl animagus. We have to assume any public owl communications between you could have been compromised."

"He... he may have," said Daphne. "But why didn't you warn us?"

"I just found out. They've been planning this for a long time. They have been several steps ahead of us from the beginning. This is _unacceptable_ , we need to look ahead to the next steps. We don't have much time to get Theo and Goyle out." Snape huffed in frustration and turned sharply away from them to stalk off between the bridge supports.

Neville ventured to lean in towards Daphne. "They took Theo?"

She nodded without looking at him.

Snape was walking back to them. "Bulstrode. Where does Theo make portkeys? Where is his workshop? Where does he get his destinations?"

"Don't know, sir."

"Bulstrode!"

" _His_ business, sir. He has Good Faiths, can't talk about it."

"And that prevents you from finding out?"

"I know Dodger and Phelps front him," she said huffily.

"He _has_ to have a specialized workshop, somewhere off the ground. And he needs a source or supplier for his destinations."

"Supplier for destinations?" said Neville, trying to catch up.

"First Principle, Mr. Longbottom. To make a portkey _to_ a place, you need a piece _of_ the place to be part of the portkey."

"Wait, what would that look like?" asked Neville carefully.

"Usually dirt or bedrock from the intended landing point."

"I think… I think it's Draco Malfoy."

They were all staring at him.

"Uh, he had dirt samples in his cold cabinet last Saturday."

"Look at _you_ , Longarse, bloody little sneak," said Daphne.

"It's possible," admitted Snape. "He travels enough."

 _Hadn't Draco said he had no contact with Snape?_ Neville thought.

"Right. We need both," Snape went on. "Workshop and possible destinations. So: Dodger, Phelps, and Malfoy."

"Sir," said Neville, "shouldn't we contact the Ministry? I mean, if Theo and Goyle are in danger…" he trailed off under the three withering glares directed at him.

" _No_ , Longbottom." Snape was speaking intently. " _Absolutely_ not. You understand now that Theo's business is unregistered portkeys?"

Neville nodded.

"And that it's illegal?"

"Yes, but if -"

"And if the Ministry comes along and finds Theo making an illegal unregistered portkey for his fugitive father?"

"All right, I get it."

"And if Theo is sentenced to Azkaban?"

"I -"

"And if _anyone_ in Azkaban knows or guesses that he was helping _me_ in the war?"

"Oh, bugger."

"And _now_ you get it, Mr. Longbottom."

"Yes, sir," said Neville quietly.

"Draco will not be a problem," Snape went on. He looked at Bulstrode. "Dodger and Phelps?"

"Problem. Greenarse and me thrashed them a couple of days ago."

Snape sighed. "You might try some other methods of persuasion, Bulstrode."

"It _works_ , though."

"Right. Malfoy first, then. You will _all_ wait here, and not go bloody haring off, understand?" He didn't wait for an answer, but strode a short distance away from the bridge and apparated.

Bulstrode leaned against one of the bridge supports, arms folded. Daphne began hauling the Ravenclaw armchair from the damp firepit to the shelter of the bridge.

She'd hardly looked at Neville since he arrived, and why should she? With how he acted, why would she want to? And of course there were more important things to think about. But then, she also called him Longarse again. _And_ a bloody little sneak, which, if he believed what Draco had told him about Slytherins and swearing held true, could be a sort of compliment. Was he really believing things Draco Malfoy said now? The thought brought an uncomfortable memory to mind, his father's name on an interrogation record… Neville shook his head sharply. The fact that he might have been honest about one thing was absolutely no guarantee that he was honest about anything else, ever.

Daphne was casting a drying charm on the chair and regarding it with distaste. She aimed a very similar look at Neville as he approached her.

" _What_ , Longarse."

"Uh, sorry for -"

"Longarse."

"- Acting like a cunt."

" _Longarse_. You don't listen. What did I tell you about apologies?"

"That they're better than thanks."

"No, you twat, I said they're almost as _bad_ as thanks."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

She shot him a disgusted look and sat in the armchair. It gave an undignified wobble.

"I guess I'm an optimist," said Neville.

"Oh, an optimist and a twat, brilliant."

"Daphne, what happened?"

"You tell me, you're the one who got the stick up his arse all of a sudden."

"No, I mean with Theo."

Daphne sighed. "Bloody Goyle must have lured Theo out of the flat. No way he could have crossed the wards otherwise. _Idiots_."

"You think Goyle's in on it? But Snape's still talking like he's in danger."

Unexpectedly, it was Bulstrode who answered. "Probably both. Everyone always uses Goyle. Only thing he's good at, getting used."

**Author's Note:**

> This story is in the same universe as my other works, but I'll be including context and backstory as it goes, so you shouldn't have to read the previous works to understand this one. You could see this as a rough sequel to Inconclusive Evidence, since it follows some of the same characters, but again, you won't need to read that one if you don't want to. It takes place about 2 ½ years after the end of The Good Friend.
> 
> This story is completely written. It will be novella length, about 17 or 18 chapters, depending on how I split things up. I still have editing/typing/polishing to do, so my posting schedule will probably be every other week.


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